Home
by tarsus4survivor
Summary: AU where John Winchester finds his son's best friend, Castiel, sleeping on the porch. Castiel has a sad understanding of home and family. The Winchesters more than make up for it.
1. Chapter 1

_Warning: Physical abuse in this story-it all happens off screen. Implications of other types of abuse if you look closely._

* * *

Michael's boyfriend had a nice car. A cherry mustang that gleamed like painted ice beneath the lamplights outside the house. Castiel didn't wait for his brother or his boyfriend to come inside. He just left. Took his trenchcoat, slid his shoes on, and left.

He was in the habit of walking to the Winchesters. Must have been, because that's where he ended up. It wasn't much different from the Novaks, but somehow it felt warmer—brighter—safer. Last night he'd been more desperate. Tonight wasn't so bad. He'd avoided it. Prevented it. Prepared for it. He'd decided that he simply wouldn't be home and then Michael's boyfriend wouldn't… Tonight wasn't so bad. It wasn't even half-cold. Chilly, yes, and his fingers were stiffening, but he could stand it.

If someone got up in the middle of the night, they might notice him. That's why he slid closer to the house. Sat down and pressed against it. To hide himself. To not be a bother. To not be noticed.

The wall was colder than he'd thought it would be. He curled his legs to his chest and just sat there, his mind too numb to think. He didn't want to think. So he sat and watched the houses around him. Shadows in the ones with lights. Movement. The yard was full of movement too. Wind shifting the bushes and branches and grass. The Winchesters had nice grass. Dean mowed it, usually. He must have done it most recently because no one else got the corners as well as he did.

His eyes started to hurt. Started to drag. He buried his face in his knees. Just the wind bothering his eyes and nothing else. Or maybe he was tired. He didn't want to sleep though. Didn't want to be stumbled across in the early morning. Didn't want to go home or to school. Didn't want to wake up. So he didn't sleep. He sat and stared at the street sleeping around him.

Finally he laid down. Because his back was hurting and so was his neck. It was growing colder. Castiel pulled on the sleeves of the trenchcoat, trying to cover his hands. He stretched the sides as far as he could, curled into a little ball, and watched the wind in the yard.

* * *

Castiel jerked awake, not knowing how he'd missed the person's entrance to his room, but ready for the hits to come just the same. His arms shielded his face and chest.

"Castiel?"

That wasn't the voice he'd been expecting.

"It's John, Cas. John Winchester."

Castiel lowered his arms, realizing now how much his ribs ached from the jolt upright. It was cold. He hugged his arms around his chest. His eyes took in John, who was looking at him like he was a cat about to spook. He was frozen a few feet away from Castiel, his feet on the porch. Oh. Castiel looked over to take in the house and then the Impala parked in the driveway. He wasn't supposed to be here, was he? "I was just leaving," he tried, but he was too afraid to move.

John gave a strange little half-nod, his eyes narrowing. The keys jingled in his hand as he stepped forward to unlock the door.

Castiel pulled upward. He was just leaving.

But John let the door swing wide and bobbed his head toward the inside of the house. "Come on in," he said.

Castiel stared at him. This was bad. "I'm sorry," he tried, hoping the man wasn't too angry. He didn't look angry. "I must have… I was just…" his mouth moved but no words came out. "I'm going," he said, and wasn't sure what else to say because he wasn't sure what this was. "You don't have to…" Castiel was utterly confused.

John bobbed his head toward the door again. "Come in, Cas. Can't have you walking home this late, can we?"

"...What?"

"Just get inside already. We're letting all the cold air in."

Castiel peered past John to the dark depths of the house. Didn't feel so warm or safe anymore. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

John jerked back a little, "The hell kinda question is that? I'm gonna go inside and go to sleep, same as you."

"Right, but I mean…" he tilted his head, wait... "You're letting me sleep here?"

"What did you think I was doing?"

A smile pulled at Castiel's face. His shoulders fell from where they'd hunched up to make him feel smaller. "But I slept here last night."

John stared at him. His eyes flicked left to right and back, almost like he was looking around for someone else to be there, about to pop out of the bushes. "So?"

Castiel tilted his head further, the smile growing. Did he not understand this? It was amusing, to say the least, even if he himself didn't know how to explain it. "So I can't… It's too much."

John just didn't get it. "What is?"

Castiel shook his head. He pointed inside. "I slept here last night," he repeated. Then his face fell as he started to realize why John was probably reacting like this. "Was I supposed to pay you?" he asked, "Maybe do chores or something? I mean I did the dishes, but I just thought that I could…"

John held up a hand and Castiel slammed his mouth shut.

"What are you even talking about? Just get inside, Cas. I'm inviting you inside to sleep because I don't want you to get kidnapped or something walking three miles in the dark and the cold in the middle of the night. I don't know why you're out here in the first place. All you had to do was knock. Dean or Sam or Mary, they would've let you in."

When Castiel couldn't find anything to do but stare, John snagged his arm at the elbow and tugged him toward the door. Castiel let himself be led. "Just tell me what I'm supposed to do for this, I just didn't know that I was supposed to be doing it before. I just...maybe you could explain the rules to me?"

"Only rules are this; no one sleeps outside, and no one screws with other people's sleep."

"I'm confused," said Cas, and hoped that John wasn't about to turn angrier. It just didn't make any sense. "What about after sleeping? What am I supposed to do? Or am I supposed to do it before? Maybe I…" He was suddenly nervous about what exactly 'sleeping' entailed. "If you want..." he cut himself off. "I think I should just go home."

John rubbed at his forehead. "Castiel, you are the strangest..." He shook his head, let out a sigh, and sat on the coffee table. He stared at Cas for a moment, then asked, "You run away?"

Castiel felt awkward standing by the doorway, but didn't know where to move to. "No. I just can't be there right now."

"What—mmm. Okay. School tomorrow."

"Yes, Mr. Winchester."

"You plan on goin'?"

"Yes."

"I don't see a backpack… No change of clothes…"

"I'm gonna go home and get them in the morning. I just can't be there _right now_."

"Any particular reason?"

Castiel went still. "I just can't be there."

"Okay." John kept rubbing at his forehead. "You're welcome _here_, anyway. You can sleep on the couch. Blankets in the closet. You know. You've been here enough times."

"Right…"

"And you don't have to do chores or whatever you were talking about. Just get some sleep and in the morning I'll drive you home so you can get your stuff before school."

Castiel was too confused to respond with anything other than agreement. "Okay."

John slapped his hands on his knees and stood. "Okay." He narrowed his eyes at Castiel, lips pursed, for a long moment. Then he threw his hands up and turned. "Whatever. I'm going to bed." He strode off toward the bedroom.

Castiel stepped forward and carefully curled up on the couch. "Thank you."

Castiel woke up early the next morning. He didn't want to be up, but he just couldn't sleep anymore. He debated going home without waiting for John right up until the moment the man walked in.

"You're up. You put the blankets away already?"

Castiel started to nod, and then thought better of it. He might be angry not knowing which ones Castiel had used. "I didn't use any," he said, "You don't have to worry about washing them."

John gave him a strange look. "Why not?"

"Because I didn't use any?"

"_Why not?_"

Castiel shook his head. "I don't…"

John sighed. He sat down on the coffee table and Castiel curled into the back of the couch just a little. "What were you doing here last night?"

Cas shook his head. "I—I didn't…didn't want to be home."

"Last night you said you _couldn't_ be."

Castiel nodded slowly. Did John think he was lying? "I did."

"Which is it?"

Last night, it had felt like he couldn't. Like it hadn't been an option. He couldn't, it was too...he hadn't wanted...couldn't bear… "I don't know."

John stared at him. "You've slept out there before, haven't you?"

Oh no.

"I heard some noises a few nights back. Wrote it off as the weather 'cause it was raining cats and dogs."

"I slipped."

John hmmed and nodded. "Somethin' goin' on at home, Cas?"

Castiel shrugged. "I just like it here."

"Right."


	2. Chapter 2

When Castiel got to the Winchesters the next night, he found a blanket in his usual spot on the porch. A note with his name rested on top. He unfolded it.

_Castiel, we left the door unlocked. Please come inside. You can bring the blanket._

That was all it said. Castiel grabbed the blanket and walked toward the door. He stared at it for a long time. His hand would twitch toward the knob only to fold back to his side. He didn't feel he could go in—should go in. Finally he just opened it. Quietly, closing it carefully behind him and not knowing if he should lock it or not. He debated about that a good long while before just leaving it unlocked. Leave things the way you found them; like you were never there. That's the general rule.

He took one step into the house before thinking he should maybe just sleep right there on the hardwood. A note with his name was sitting on the coffee table. He wandered over, not entirely sure he was supposed to read it. He did anyway, carefully, sitting on the floor behind the couch out of sight just in case. There was a pile of blankets on the couch. Castiel read the note and found out why.

_Castiel, you can sleep on the couch. In fact, we want you to. The pillows and blankets are all for you. Use as many as it takes to get comfortable, but please use them. Stay warm, stay safe. John will drive you home in the morning. You are always welcome here, Castiel. No chores required._

Castiel stood carefully. He brushed a hand over the blankets. _All for you. Stay warm. Stay safe. _He started to cry.

There were three different blankets. One soft and large and thick, one thin and coarse and worn, one poofy comforter that Cas knows had been dug out from the back of the closet. He took them all. He had never… no one had ever… He read the note again. _All for you. _

The pillow was thin as a twig and the pillowcase was an ugly mustard yellow but Castiel barely noticed. He curled up on the couch, sweltering in heat but refusing to move a single one of the blankets. He'd never been so warm. Well he'd been warm but never… the warmth was in his chest, splaying out through his limbs and up through his mind.

He didn't sleep well but that was par for the course at that point.

When John woke Castiel the next morning—and how had Cas not woken up first?—he handed the boy a key. "It's for the house. You come over… you come in. I don't care what time it is. We'll leave the bedding out for you to use. In fact, we're giving it to you. It's yours. Use it."

_It's yours._

Castiel continued to come. Every night.

It didn't take long for the Winchesters to realize he suffered nightmares.

"Castiel," someone murmured.

Castiel's limbs were heavy, his throat trapped. The murmur didn't wake him. Felt like part of the dream. In his dream it was a roar.

Someone shook his shoulder and that woke him. Cas jolted upright with a sob, hands up to protect his face even as he turned to bury it in the side of the couch. "Don't touch me!"

"Shh," someone murmured. Too high-pitched to be his father or Michael or—"It's okay, Cas. It's just Mary. You were screaming."

"Sorry." Cas unfolded, eyes not quite meeting hers, back still curled against the cushions. Safer that way, less to worry about if she were to… get upset.

Mary smiled. "That's alright." Her head tilted. "Nightmare?" She asked softly—whispered more like, trying not to wake anyone more than she was trying to be kind to him, Cas was almost sure.

That was when he realized. "I woke you. I'm sorry." His shoulders fall. Two rules, and it was only the third night and he'd already broken one of them. He'd be lucky if all Mary did was kick him out. He suggested it to her, a simple solution for everyone, "I can…I'll go." He stared at the blankets, ran his hand over the edge, loving the feel of them. Wondering if they'd be rescinded. Of course they would be.

"No, you don't have to go, Cas." Mary's eyebrows pinched. "I was just worried about you."

"I woke you," he repeated, sure she'd reach the same conclusions he had. He loved the stupid mustard yellow pillow. Pressed his hand against it. They wouldn't let him keep it after he broke the rules.

Mary hummed low in the back of her throat. "Sort of…"

Castiel pinched his eyes shut, closing out the blankets that were flooding his vision. He wasn't sure he could remind her if he was staring right at them, knowing he was going to lose them. "John told me the rules. If I woke you, I broke them."

"What are you talking about?" Mary whisper-asked. Her voice was rising in confusion or anger or frustration and Castiel burrowed back into the couch.

"Two rules. 1. No one sleeps outside. 2. No one screws"- he stumbled over the word a little—"with other people's sleep. I screwed with your sleep." Castiel shifted his legs, ready to rise.

Mary held out a hand, halted him without touching him. "No. You didn't." Her head started shaking. "And those aren't real rules anyway." Her eyes rolled past him, squinting at the wall, lost in thought, "I've never even heard—" Her eyes widened and she quickly amended, "Actually, the first one is. A rule. No one sleeps outside. Yep." She nodded. And then her face softened.

It unsettled Castiel, who wondered just what she was playing at. What she was trying to lure him into.

Mary kept talking, hands moving as she did. "But you having a nightmare and waking me up because you're scared is not you screwing with my sleep and even if it was, it wouldn't matter. Because we have another rule: Winchesters always welcome. And you, Castiel, are an honorary Winchester. So even if you break the rules, we're not gonna kick you out. That's not the way things work here. You mess up… we get over it. We help you learn so that you don't mess up again. And you don't have to worry about being punished, okay? We'll tell you if we're upset and we'll talk it over with you. That's all we'll do."

Castiel couldn't help but feel like that was a trap. He flicked his eyes to the side, expecting John in the shadows waiting to leap out and catch him. Castiel didn't dare contradict her. "Okay…" he murmured, but he couldn't believe it. It wasn't real. A ploy or a play put on to make him put his guard down. To make him hope.

Mary smoothed down the edge of the blankets. Reminding him of what he had to lose if he screwed up again. "You wanna tell me what it was about? Your dream?"

Castiel shook his head.

Mary nodded. "That's fine. But if you ever do, I'm here. You can wake me up, even. Just to talk or sit with you or whatever." She shrugged. "You want some water?"

"I'm okay."

Mary tilted her head. "You sure?"

Castiel held his resolve and nodded carefully even as something screamed at him to change his mind and want whatever she wanted him to want, even as he braced for John to leap out or Mary herself to snap forward.

"Okay." Mary pulled the blanket back over him. "You wanna try to go back to sleep?"

Cas didn't sleep well.


	3. Chapter 3

John was driving Cas back to the Novaks. He put the car in park outside the house, but before Cas could leave, John called, "Cas?"

Cas froze. Oh no. "Yes, Mr. Winchester?"

"Dean says you don't eat lunch at school, that true?"

Cas shrugged, staring with wide eyes waiting for the disappointment and anger that would follow. "Sometimes I have a granola bar."

John nodded. "Hmmmm." He looked forward and Cas took that as his cue to leave. Cas started to open the door.

"You know… Mary's always buying way too much food for the boys. I'm thinking we might as well use it. I could have Mary make you a pack lunch when she makes one for Sam and Dean. Wouldn't be any trouble. In fact it'd kinda help us use up all that food before it goes bad."

Cas stilled. He stared at John. "Are you…" He looked around but no one else was there. "Are you being serious?"

John turned to look at him. "Yeah, Cas. You gotta eat."

"You would… I could…" he nodded, "I would like that." But then his mind caught up to him and his throat thickened. "What would you want in return? I—"

"Nothing." John cut Castiel off. "What we get is less food wasted. Even trade the way I see it."

Castiel squinted his eyes because he couldn't quite believe that and couldn't figure out how John was going to use this against him. He would bring it up when he got upset, probably. All the things we've done for you. When he wanted something. And you can't even do this one little thing for me? "Right," Cas said. He couldn't meet John's eyes. Stared out the window. "I think I'm okay with granola bars."

John frowned. "If you're sure."

John had Mary pack a lunch for Castiel anyway, which Cas found out when Dean sat next to him and pulled out two bags.

Cas shook his head as Dean pushed it toward him. "I can't take that." He owed too many favors already.

"Take it," Dean said. "I'm sick of you staring at my food and watching me eat."

"Oh." Cas averted his gaze. "I'm sorry, I didn't—I didn't even realize I—"

"Just take it."

Cas hesitated. "What are your parents like?" he asked carefully.

Dean squinted. "What do you mean? They're just parents. Why? What's your father like?"

Cas gave a smile as thin as ice. "Forget I asked." He pushed the bag back toward Dean. "I can't take this. I really can't." He waited for Dean to get angry. _But mom spent all that time making it for you. You're letting it go to waste. I had to carry around all day—and now even longer because you're not going to eat it?_

Dean didn't. He rolled his eyes and sighed and pulled it back. "Whatever, I guess. It's not like I can force you. Just don't watch me eat."

Castiel was anxious all of a sudden once school ended and he'd gone home and it got late enough for him to head over to the Winchesters. They'd be upset. Insulted that he hadn't wanted their food. He couldn't go back. Instead he walked outside and curled up behind the bushes beside his father's porch. It was only mid-fall. Not too cold. It would be soon.

A car rumbled up late in the night and woke him. Mr. Winchester's black impala.

A form stepped out, tall and broad and cloaked in shadow. They took a few steps and then Cas lost sight of them; bushes and darkness blocking his view. So when the first step thudded onto the steps a few feet away Castiel jolted into the side of the porch—the concrete. He hit his head and hitched his breath and one hand jerked out and rattled the leaves on a bush.

The steps stopped. Castiel could see the form at this angle. Turning toward him. Moonlight hit his face. John Winchester. Frowning.

Cas froze in place and hoped John couldn't see him in return.

John was peering thinly down at the bushes. Shadowed by the house and leaves and porch.

Castiel heard a whisper drift toward him.

"Cas?"

He couldn't read the voice. Too quiet, too little said. Castiel couldn't hear if he was angry or confused or surprised or scared, and didn't respond. Didn't know how to.

"Cas? Castiel, is that you?"

"Sorry," Cas breathed out. Safest bet. "What… Sorry."

John sat down on the steps. He moved a hand through his hair, shoulders falling with a sigh. "Thank god. Thought you'd been kidnapped or hit by a car or—" he cut himself off and finished weakly, "…something."

"I'm fine," Cas said. "I'm sorry."

"What are you doing out here? Why didn't you come over? You lose your key?" He asked like he knew the answer, like he was monitoring how Castiel would respond. It filled Cas with terror because he didn't know what John wanted to hear.

"I—I'm sorry. I have the key still, I can… give it back."

John sighed again. He rubbed at his forehead, arm a flash of movement in the darkness. "Keep it," he whispered. His arm fell. "Why…Did I do something wrong? Or Mary or Dean or Sam?"

"No." Yes. I said no and you forced it on me and now I can't go back.

"Then what are you doing out here?"

"I like it out here," Cas said. He lied. But only a partial lie. He liked it better than inside.

"Cas, you can't sleep outside. It's not safe."

Safer than inside.

"Come over. Mary's worried sick.

Cas shook his head, resolve firm. He couldn't go back. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"You can't sleep outside. If I go home without you and leave you here, Mary will just send me back with a tent and make me sleep out here with you. And I like my bed, Cas."

Cas hated tactics like these. The ones that made him feel like it was his fault. It probably was his fault. Usually was. Always was. Cas hated it anyway. "Tell her I'm fine. That I'm in my house."

"I don't lie to my wife." John's form is little more than a shadow now that he's sitting, shielded by the shadow of the house.

"I—I'll go inside." Cas's heart fell at the notion. "It won't be a lie."

John shook his head. "Either you'll come right back out or… I'm sure there's a reason you don't sleep in your house. And I'm sure it's not 'I like it out here.' Am I right?"

"I do like it out here."

John sighed. "I can't make you do anything and I won't. But I'm not gonna leave you alone out here." He tilted backward to lay awkwardly on the steps, head on the floor of the porch. "If someone calls the cops, let me know."

Cas shook his head, panic firing through him for some reason. "You can't…" He crawled out from the bushes. "I'll go."

John pushed up slowly, straightening his jacket. "Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Apologies for the tense change._

* * *

It's not the end of it. Cas was really hoping that coming with John would be the end of it.

But Mary get up early the next morning and she comes in and sits cross-legged on the floor a few feet in front of the couch, leaning against the coffee table.

"Cas," she says.

Cas sits up straighter, folds his hands into his lap. "Yes, Mrs. Winchester?"

Mary smiles at him, "You know you can call me Mary, Cas."

Panic settles somewhere between his throat and his stomach, "Does it bother you? Make you feel old or something? I'm sorry, I won't—I didn't know—"

Mary shakes her head. "No, no, no, Cas. You can call me whatever you want. Mrs. Winchester's fine. It's just sort of a mouthful, and I thought Mary might be a little easier, but I really don't care either way. I love my given name, but having the reminder of my family and the man I married is wonderful. Please don't feel like you have to call me one or the other."

Cas's throat jumps. He feels stiff. "Okay."

John walks behind the couch and into the kitchen.

"Anyways," Mary continues, "I was just thinking that I don't really like the thought of you walking over here all by yourself every night. Do you have to leave at a certain time or anything?"

Cas shakes his head carefully. "I just have to finish my chores."

"What time do you usually finish those?"

John walks out of the kitchen. Into the living room, sitting on the coffee table, legs brushing Mary's arm.

Cas is wary. He shrugs. "8:00, maybe?"

Mary and John frown almost simultaneously. It's subtler on John, less of a change. Castiel instantly feels the tension of the room rise.

"It takes you five hours?" John asks, voice gruff.

Cas shrugs it off. He's not good at explaining things. Five hours isn't much when you think about it, really. "I—my father has to come around and check them and I usually have to redo some of them. If he's home late, I have time to do homework too."

They're both still frowning.

It's uncomfortable. Being confronted like this. Pushed into a corner. It's their fault, really, for not understanding, not giving him the time to format a better response—not a lie, just a better response.

"What exactly do you have to do?" Mary asks.

Cas shrugs. He loves shrugging. How noncommittal it is, how subjective. They can guess the response they want. "Nothing much," he says.

John hums.

Mary nods slowly. "Okay. But anyways, I was thinking that maybe John could go pick you up and drive you over here and then I wouldn't have to worry so much."

"Oh." Cas hadn't been expecting that. He's not sure what he was expecting them to ask or suggest. Him to do more chores over here, maybe, or be more punctual. Less of an annoyance, he supposes, if he's more punctual and helpful. It would make it simpler for them. He shakes his head at the actual suggestion, wishing they had asked him to do chores because John waiting to pick him up is a horrible idea. "But wouldn't that waste gas and—Mr. Winchester shouldn't have to take the time to—I can walk just fine."

"It wouldn't be any trouble, Cas." Mary tilts closer to him, hand beside her mouth like she's telling him something in confidence, "It's really perfect for John because he loves that car so much and the only places he ever gets to drive her is to work and the grocery store. I think he'd love having even five extra minutes to spend showing her off to the neighbors." She nudges her husband.

John acknowledges her with an assenting bob of his head. A 'can't deny that' type of look aimed toward the ground.

Cas tilts his own head, not sure what this is or how to respond. Simple is better. "Okay," he says.

Mary smiles. "Perfect. You could call us when you finish your chores or we could set a time for him to come every night…"

"I don't have a phone. And I—I wouldn't want him to have to wait for me or anything…"

Mary's smile widens. "Your folks have anything against you getting a phone?"

Cas shakes his head, "I don't think so, but I can't afford one. I..."

"That's fine, Cas. You know…" Mary hums thoughtfully, "Sammy's been begging me for that new iPhone that just came out and I've been thinking about getting him and Dean one. Maybe not the newest version out there, but something, they've been doing so good in school. And you could have one of their old phones, if you wanted. They'd probably just get thrown away otherwise. How does that sound?"

This is a trap. A trap that Castiel doesn't have the state of mind to escape. He needs more time. Settles for a rebuttal instead. "O—okay, but I don't know if my father would like it…"

"Well you can ask him and in the meantime I'll just send John over around 8:00, how does that sound?"

"Yeah," says Cas slowly. He looks down, feet shuffling, "I think maybe 8:30 would be a little bit better."

"Okay."

And that should be the end of it, right? Right. The end of questions. The end of… Cas just wants to sit undisturbed. Simple, easy. Have some space to breathe. That's not so much to ask, is it?

But Dean is sitting beside him in the school hallway while they wait for lunch to be over and says, "Hey, Cas, what time do you usually have dinner?"

Cas looks sideways at Dean, suddenly unsettled and wary. "Why?"

Dean shrugs. He closes the book he was fiddling with more than reading. "I was thinking maybe we could work on that science project together sometime this week, and I'm just trying to figure out what times would work."

"Oh." Cas's shoulders lose their tension. He leans back into the lockers. "Anytime, but it would have to be before my father gets home."

"Is that when you have dinner?" Dean asks.

Cas nods, lips pursing. "Sure."

Dean tilts away from the lockers, eyes thin, "You do have dinner, don't you, Cas?"

Cas really wants to lie. He almost manages it. "I mean, yeah." But then his mouth keeps moving without his consent. "I just—there's no—I'm on my own most times." He fiddles with the strap of his backpack.

Dean frowns. "Don't you have like five brothers?"

A simple question. "Four," Cas corrects, "And Anna."

"And none of you guys eat together?"

Cas shrugs. Loves shrugging. "Not really….Gabriel brings me something sometimes."

Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing. "What do you usually eat?" There's something in his voice Cas can't decipher. Wariness, maybe.

"I find something."

Dean rubs his lip under his teeth, making a strange sound. Almost a tsk. His eyebrows have pinched together. "Do you have breakfast?"

Cas looks over at Dean. "Why?"

"You don't eat lunch, you don't eat dinner, at least tell me you get something for breakfast." The abandoned book thuds onto the floor as he shifts. Angrily, maybe—probably.

Castiel shrugs. "I have granola bars."

Dean's voice rises. "And that's it?" He's offended or disappointed or something.

Cas is sick of disappointment. "What?" he snaps.

Dean ignores the tone, for which Castiel is forever grateful. He moves his hands when he gets agitated, gesturing and emphasizing. "Is that all you ever eat? Don't you have food at home?"

Shoulder hunch up but refuse to fall back down, shielding instead. "My…it's not really mine to take."

Dean shakes his head, frowning, angry. "Your parents have to feed you, Cas. That's child abuse."

Cas shakes his head. It's not. Of course it's not. Not when he doesn't starve because of it. "I get my own food, so…"

"From your allowance?"

Cas furrows his eyebrows. "No. What's allowance?"

Dean gestures, "You know…your parents give you money every week or you earn it doing chores or whatever. Your parents don't do that?"

Cas shakes his head. "No."

Dean grinds his jaw.

Cas turns his head and stares at the lockers across from them.

"Then how are you affording all those granola bars?"

"I mow my neighbor's lawn," Cas tells him.

"Oh." Dean settles back, face shifted from dark to pondering.

"And in the fall I rake it and in the winter I shovel their driveway."

They fall into silence. Dean makes no move to pick the book back up.

A few minutes later, Dean says, "You know… you could eat dinner with us, Cas."

Cas shakes his head. "I couldn't."

"Sure you could. Mom and dad won't mind."

"I really, really couldn't."

"Okay."

It never ends.

The next morning, Dean is up before John has taken Cas back home.

"How are you getting to the grocery store?"

"What?" Cas's head spins up.

"For the granola bars, Cas, because so help me, if you tell me you're walking, I will punch you in the face. That's ten freakin' miles."

Cas looks back down, folding his pajamas before he puts them in the duffel he started bringing. Sam had suggested it. Wondered how anyone could sleep comfortably in jeans. "I'm not."

"You have a bike or something?"

Cas clarifies, "I'm not getting to the grocery store."

Dean's frown is dark on his face. Too familiar. Too like the way Cas's family looks at him. "Then where are you getting the granola bars?" Dean asks.

"There's a vending machine at school…"

Dean's eyes widen. "Cas. That's like ten times more expensive."

Cas shrugs. "The grocery store's ten miles."

Dean's shaking his head, "No, no, no, no, no. How much money do you make?"

"Five dollars a week."

Dean rubs his forehead. "That's like five granola bars."

Cas purses his lips. "They come in a pack, actually."

"Oh my god," says Dean. "Still. That's not even one per meal, Cas. How have you not starved to death yet?"

Cas shakes his head and shrugs it off. "It's really not that bad."

Dean's eyes are wide. "It is. It is that bad, Cas. You're not allowed to eat the food at home?"

Cas makes a noise in his throat. Not-quite-agreement. "To be honest, there's not much to eat."

Dean plops himself onto the armrest, pointing, "No. Yesterday you said something about not being allowed to take it."

Cas hums. Corrects, "I believe I said that it wasn't mine to take."

Dean won't stop looking at him. Won't stop asking. "Someone get mad at you if you eat that food, Cas?"

Cas shrugs. He doesn't look up, just keeps folding his clothes. "It doesn't matter, Dean, don't you have to get ready for school?"

"This is more important."

John walks past them and into the kitchen, which is connected to the living room.

"Hey, dad?" Dean calls, craning his head to look over the couch.

Cas shakes his head, mouthing, 'Don't.'

"Yeah, Dean?"

Dean sees Cas mouthing and ignores him. "You think maybe we could start taking Cas with us to the grocery store?"

John walks into the room, standing beside the couch. "I don't see why not. You got something you wanna buy, Cas?"

Cas shakes his head. "I'm okay, really, I don't—"

Dean talks over him, "He's got a thing for granola bars, but I'm thinking we need to introduce him to some new meal options."

John nods. "Yeah, sure. We could go today, if you wanted."

Cas shakes his head, "I don't get paid 'til Friday."

Dean frowns. "Friday morning?"

"No. After school."

Dean frown deepens. "What do you eat over the weekend?"

"Gabriel usually brings me something." Cas has said this before.

"For every meal? Every day, even?" Dean's voice is rising.

Cas glares. "I know how to manage my food supply, Dean."

"What's this about?" asks John with a frown, moving to sit on the coffee table.

"Cas doesn't ever eat anything," says Dean.

Cas glares at him. "Have you been listening to a word I said?"

Dean ignores him, so probably not. He talks to John. "They don't have dinner, dad. They don't have breakfast. They don't pack or pay for lunch. They don't feed him at all. He has to mow his neighbor's lawn to afford five granola bars every week."

A shadow draws across John's face. "That true, Cas?"

"It's ten granola bars," Cas says, cheeks red, "bigger than normal sized. And Gabriel works at McDonalds so he 'feeds me'... sometimes."

John's face is unreadable but for the barest hint of anger. "We don't need to go to the grocery store, Cas. You can eat anything you can find while you're over here. Why don't you start staying for breakfast? I don't know why we haven't asked before." He stands. "What kind of pancakes do you like? I'll go make some."

Cas shakes his head. "Mr. Winchester, you don't have to—"

"What kind of pancakes?"

Cas looks down. "Is there more than one?"

"Chocolate chip," says Dean, "you'll love them."

When John drives Cas to the Winchester home that night, he doesn't head straight to the bedroom. He walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a plate. "Cas, Mary fixed you a plate from dinner. You told Dean you can't join us, but there's no reason you shouldn't still get dinner, so we're gonna start leaving you something. You can warm it up in the microwave or just eat it cold, whatever you want. There's silverware in this drawer here."

John sets the plate on the counter. "Okay, Cas?"

Cas sits on the couch and just stares at him, his eyes burning. He wants to say no. He also wants to eat it. But he can't. Can't impose like that, can't be indebted to them like that. No is what he means to say. Goes to say. "That's fine," he chokes out instead.

John comes closer. He sits on the coffee table. "Listen, Cas…I don't know what it's like at your home, but you'll always be welcome in mine. And if you ever need anything—a place to sleep, food, clothes, toothpaste, a hug, anything—all you have to do is ask, alright?"

Cas stares at him. "Are—what?"

"Anything you need, Cas, and I mean _anything_. Just tell us."

Mary keeps packing him lunch. Cas starts eating it.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas gets into the car stiffly, trying not to bend his torso, not leaning back against the seat. He sits in the back, always sits in the back, and sets his backpack on the seat beside him.

"You okay, Cas?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester."

When John drives Cas back home the next morning, there's a cherry mustang parked in the driveway. "That's a nice car," says John.

Cas nods slowly. He gets out of the car and just stands on the sidewalk.

After a minute, John rolls down the window. "I've gotta make sure you get in, Cas."

Cas is just standing there staring at the car. "I think I'll just wear this to school," he says, and John frowns, following his gaze.

"Whose car is that?"

"My brother's boyfriend's."

"Which brother?"

"Michael," Cas says, not that it matters because John doesn't know any of his brothers.

"Hmmm."

Cas steps away from the car a little. "You can go, Mr. Winchester."

"You gonna go inside?"

Cas wants to say yes. He can't. "I'll just… walk to the bus stop."

John sighs. "Get back in, Cas."

"What?"

"Get back in the car."

Cas turns.

"You can't be home right now, isn't that what you tell me?"

"Yeah…"

John points. "Because of that car."

It's not a question so Cas doesn't answer.

John bobs his head. "So get back in here. You can go to school with Dean and Sam."

Cas opens the door and slips back inside. "Okay." His eyes are wet.

John closes the window. They drive away.

* * *

When John gets there the next night, the car's still there. He frowns.

Cas is usually waiting for him. On the doorstep or running out the minute his car pulls to a stop. He's not there now and it makes John worried. Something unsettled churns in his stomach.

After ten minutes, he gets out of the car and goes up to knock on the door. A young man answers. "Yes?"

"I'm here to pick up Castiel. He's got a science project with my son they're gonna work on tonight."

The young man's eyes narrow. "It's pretty late to work on a project, don't you think?"

"It's—they're working with film and we don't have a dark room so it works better at night when there's less light and we can just pull the curtains. Cas said he had chores or I would've been here earlier, but it's Friday anyway, so I figure it's fine to let them stay up."

"Mm-hmm." The boy nods slowly. He turns his head to call into the house, "Zachariah."

Another young man comes running.

"Go get Castiel."

Zachariah huffs up the stairs.

The boy turns back to John. He doesn't invite him in. "I don't believe I caught your name."

"John." He puts his hand out, "John Winchester."

The young man shakes his hand, "Balthazar. I'm Castiel's brother."

John nods. "Your father home?"

Balthazar shakes his head. "You need to talk to him?"

"Not tonight."

Zachariah comes down the stairs, "He'll be ready in a few minutes."

Balthazar sighs. He looks at John. "Would you like to wait inside?"

"Sure." Truth be told, he'd love a chance to see inside Cas's house.

So Balthazar steps out of the way and John walks in.

He'd been expecting some decrepit, filthy place, but actually the house looks spotless. Better than his house, in fact. The furniture looks new. He's feels out of place sitting on it, like he might damage it in some way. It's an awkward few minutes waiting for Cas to come down the stairs.

Cas is out of breath when he does, his backpack held out in front of him awkwardly and John's not sure why he hasn't slung it over his shoulder.

John stands, "Hey, Cas, ready to go? Got everything you need to spend the night?"

Cas nods. "Yes, Mr. Winchester." Someone else followed him down the stairs. They're glaring at John.

John ignores them. "So let's go." He holds the door open for Cas and steps out after him. He hardly breathes until it closes behind him. "I think I might see why you like my house, Cas."

Cas nods, but he's not looking at John. He trudges slowly to the impala.

"You okay, Cas?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester."

Cas is silent on the ride home. Not that he isn't usually but usually it's just not so somber. They walk inside.

"So," says John, "that ugly-ass car was there."

Cas smiles but still won't look in his direction. "Yeah."

"And you were there."

"Very astute."

John looks at him, "You sure you're okay?"

Cas rubs at his eye. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"Okay." John walks over to the fridge, "We saved you some food, if you're hungry. And you're always hungry."

Cas sits on the couch and lets out a sob.

"Cas?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Winchester." His voice is shaking.

John puts the food in the microwave. Cas is sitting strangely and John doesn't like it.

"You get caught up in chores or something?"

Cas sobs again.

John feels heavy. He pulls the food from the microwave and sets it on the couch beside Cas. He sits on the coffee table. Cas hurriedly wipes his face but John can see the tear tracks. He wonders if that's why Cas wouldn't look at him.

"So what's Michael like? You said it's his boyfriend's car?"

"Yeah," chokes Cas. He doesn't touch the food.

John nods. "Does he ever… You sure you're okay, Cas?"

Cas buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He nods.

"Are you hurt?"

Cas sobs. He curls in on himself. "I couldn't be there."

"But you were there. Why didn't you come over here after school, Cas, if that car was still there?"

"If I… I had to do my chores or my father…"

John sighs. "He'd hurt you?"

Cas shrugs. Then he shakes his head and turns into the couch and doesn't say another word.

* * *

The next night, Castiel walks through the bathroom door and over to—John is sitting on the coffee table, hunched over like there's a weight on his shoulders. His eyes are watching Castiel in the dim light. Castiel stops.

John beckons him over with a bob of his head and a wave of his hand.

Castiel angles his head back and doesn't move. "I can… you want me to… leave?"

John shakes his head. "Come sit, Cas. I'm not mad at you."

And he doesn't look mad. He looks sad—disappointed maybe, and somehow that's worse.

Cas fiddles with the strap on his bag. He glances over at the front door, but steps toward the couch and sits, stiff and tense.

"What did I do? Did I… I don't…"

John shakes his head. "You didn't do anything. I uh…" he sighs, gaze falling to the floor and then back up to meet Cas. "Where are you hurt?" he asks softly.

Cas stiffens even more. "Did I… I'm…" his head turns back toward the door. "I'm not."

John just looks at him, eyes heavy. "It was trash day yesterday. I… set a bag down wrong and it tipped over. There were bloody bandages, Cas, and I already talked to everyone else. You don't have to be worried about anything, alright? We're not gonna kick you out. You're not in trouble. I just wanna know you're okay."

Cas is carefully still. "I'm okay."

John's throat bobs. He nods. "You, uh… you were sort of favoring your side walkin' in. Looked a little bit like hurt ribs. And a couple days ago, gettin' in the car… you didn't lean back against the seat and you slept that night so that your back wouldn't touch the couch. And this whole past week, you've been walkin' funny. Small, slow steps like you're tryin' to hide a limp. And I don't know why I didn't see it before. I just uh… I keep going back in my mind and there's all these things that are just screamin' at me that I should've noticed. Should've asked about. I just…" he shakes his head. "Where are you hurt, Cas? How can I help?"

Cas doesn't say anything. He just stares at John, eyes a little too wide, completely still.

John sighs. "You bleeding anywhere?"

Cas shrugs carefully. His chest is jerking minutely with each breath, making his head bob. He averts his gaze to stare at the ground.

"You don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to. I just wanna know how bad it is and how we can keep it from happening again. Would you look at me, Cas?" Cas looks. John presses, "Are you bleeding?"

Cas nods. Just one nod, careful and slow and he's watching John, a little worried he's about to spring off the couch or call CPS.

John sighs. "Bad?"

Cas lifts his shoulders and holds them there. He doesn't respond, can't seem to finish the shrug.

"Could you tell me where, at least?"

Cas shakes his head just slightly.

John rubs his knee. "Cas," he says, "I'm not going to hurt you. You don't have to show me. And I'm not going to tell anyone you don't want me to tell. Just between you and me, where are you hurt? Where are you bleeding?"

Cas bites his lip. His hand goes up in an aborted motion. He fiddles with his bag. His hand goes up again, up and up and stopping just over his shoulder. "My back," he says, and his hand falls. He looks down.

"Thank you." John lets that hang alone for a moment, let's Cas feel safe and comfortable as much as he can before asking, "Is that what the bandages were for?"

Cas shakes his head. He shrinks a little.

"Okay. You mind me asking what they were for?"

Cas looks down, but he's showing and not avoiding. He gestures to his calf. "My leg," he says.

"Thank you." This is going to be a long conversation. "Is it still bleeding? You need more bandages?"

Cas shrugs.

John doesn't want to push. "Okay. Are you bleeding anywhere else?"

Cas shakes his head.

"Okay. Thank you." John wants to know more about his leg and back, but if that's all Cas wants to give him, then he'll take it. "Is anything broken?"

Cas's hand shifts just a little, fingers spreading over the bottom of his ribcage.

"Some ribs?"

Cas pulls his hand back down. His eyes flick up to John, then back to the floor. He shakes his head and twists his wrist in the strap of his bag so hard his hand starts to turn white.

"No? Bruised, maybe?"

Cas shrugs. He unwraps his wrist and then wraps it again, over and over and over, harder each time.

"Cas, I swear, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to judge you. And I'm really tryin' not to make you too uncomfortable. It's not workin', but I am tryin'. Are you hurt anywhere else or is it just your leg, ribs, and back?"

"I'm not… hurt," Cas says softly.

"Nowhere else?"

Cas shakes his head.

"Okay." John takes a deep breath. "I don't know if it's bullies at school, bullies at home, both, or if you're just a little clumsy, but I'm thinkin' we can prevent some of this in the future. You with me, Cas?"

Cas shrugs.

"Well, if it's school, maybe you could hang out with Sam and Dean more, in the hallways and before class, and after, and maybe those bullies would back off a little. If it's home…" John tilts his head. "Gabriel's the… nice one?"

Cas smiles and huffs. "Sure."

"Maybe you could stick with him more often. Even hang out at… Mcdonalds?"

Cas nods.

"—while you're waiting for your dad to come check your chores or whatever. Might get some free food that way too. Or if he's off-shift, you might ask him to stick around at home with you. You could also uh… hang around here more… maybe right after school or right after you first finish chores, or you could start getting ready here in the mornings; bring your toothbrush and school bag and some clothes… Whatever works for you. I just don't wanna see you get hurt. And if you're clumsy, well… maybe we could sign you up for some dance lessons or buy you football padding…?"

Cas smiles weakly, but he shakes his head.

"Just think about how you can… we can… put the hurt at a minimum, huh? If it's… we could get you a therapist, too, if that's…"

Cas shakes his head. "I'm not intentionally self-harming if that's what you…"

John lets out a breath, smiling, "Good. Okay. So just think about it, okay, Cas? And I'd like you to think about telling me or Mary or… Gabriel… or someone about your injuries, whenever you have them, and maybe having us help bandage or clean or whatever, okay? And if you need any supplies, just ask. You know where the first aid kit is?"

Cas nods.

"Good," says John, "Please use it. I don't want you wasting your lawn-mowing money on bandages or antibiotics or anything. You should be buying candy or chips or whatever the hell you want. Okay." John stands. "Food's in the fridge. I'll uh… get out of your way."

Cas nods.

John pauses just as he's rounded the coffee table. "Can I tell Mary about our conversation? All of it?"

Cas nods again.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester."

"You can call me John, Cas, if you want to, or Dean's dad, or 'that guy' or whatever. If you want to."

"Sure."

"Okay. Goodnight."


	6. Chapter 6

John's half-expecting Cas, just because he seems to prefer knocking to using the key. He's not expecting a tall young man. "Can I help you?"

The man looks up at him, holds out a hand, "I'm Gabe, Cassie's brother."

John shakes his hand. "Cassie…" He raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, uh, Castiel, sorry."

John startles a little. "Oh. _Oh_, you're Gabriel. The one that works at Mcdonalds."

The man smirks. "That's me." He gestures to the doorway, "Can I come in?"

"Sure," John steps aside and Gabriel moves past him. John closes the door. Gabriel sits on the couch and John on the coffee table across from him.

Gabe's throat jumps. He bobs his head, looking around, "Nice place."

"Thank you." John nods. "Is there a reason you stopped by, or…"

Gabe's face falls. He hunches over his knees, arms resting on his legs. "Cassie, uh… he said you were the one that told him… to tell someone when he's…" Gabe rubs his forehead, "You know…"

John tilts his head.

"When he's… hurt."

Oh. John darkens a little. "Yeah."

"Well, he told me. Showed me. He…" Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut. He shakes his head, hand running down his face, looking at John with his features twisted in sorrow, "I had no idea it was so bad. I swear I would've…" His voice breaks, "I could see his ribs. I mean, they were broken and I could _see_…" He shakes his head, "I swear, I had no idea. I mean I knew…" Gabe sighs. "Our dad and Michael, they…" he fumbles for words, hands moving, "they're not _great_, but I didn't think they were really hitting him or starving him. I just thought…" He shakes his head and trails off.

John nods.

Gabe picks up again, rubbing the back of his neck, "Anyway, Cas says I have you to thank. He told me he's been staying here at night and how much you've been doing for him, and I wanted to come thank you. And to uh, let you know that I'm gonna be better. Um… I'm gonna be keeping a closer eye on him, and letting him stay in the lobby while I'm at work… He said you suggested that. And he's gonna keep comin' here at night, if that's okay…"

John nods immediately. "Yeah. I can keep feeding him too, three square meals a day. You make sure he knows he's welcome over anytime."

Gabriel nods. "Yeah. And hopefully there won't be anymore… injuries, but he said he'll let me know. So if you could just be careful with him. Keep doing what you're doing, I'll try to get this thing sorted out. I turn 18 next month. I'm thinking maybe I can get custody of him. Get him away."

"I'm happy to help," says John, "Or take custody, myself. He's already like one of the family. I've been talking to some people about the situation."

Gabe lets out a breath. "We can use all the help we can get. Thank you. I'll talk to Cas, see what he wants to do."

John nods. "Great."

Gabe stands and John with him, holding out a hand, "It was nice meeting you, Gabe." He shakes his hand, but hesitates, "You said… his ribs are broken?"

Gabe withers. "His ribs are broken and his back is… flayed. He's… I took him to a free clinic. They treated him, um… yeah. Three broken."

John nods. "Thank you. He's still scared of me, I think. Wouldn't tell me much. I'm glad he came to you."

Gabe's throat bobs. "Yeah. Wish he'd come sooner." Gabe heads for the door and stops, turning, "Hey, um… do you mind if I bring him over sometimes, I could drop him off some evenings after work, or days if Dad's… or days. Would that be alright?"

"That would be great."

Gabriel turns. "Okay. Nice meeting you." He leaves, and John closes the door behind him.

* * *

Gabriel drops Cas off later that day, right after school. He tries to drop Cas off. Cas is protesting. "I have chores, Gabe, you know I do."

Gabe shakes his head. "I'll do them."

"You have work. And your own chores, which you never do because you hate chores. Take me home."

Gabriel turns the car off and just sits there. "This is your home."

Cas folds his arms and leans back against the seat, determined to wait him out. "You know it's not."

"I'll do your chores."

"You won't do them _right_. And that won't help anybody."

Gabriel frowns. He starts the car up again. "Okay, so just this once you show me how to do them right and from here on out, I'll do them."

"They're my chores and I can do them."

"You're just a kid."

"I'm not just a kid. I've been doing chores since I was old enough to stand. And I'll keep doing them until I'm so old that I can't stand anymore."

Gabriel sighs. He argues back the whole way home, even though he knows it's not gonna get them anywhere. They argue all the way up to the front door, and that's where the arguing stops, because they both know it'll draw too much unwanted attention.

They fall into a tense silence instead, Cas doing his chores with violent motions, refusing to say a single word to Gabriel about how to do them. Gabriel watches with more focus than he's ever given to anything, determined to learn how to do them right despite Cas's refusal.

It makes them feel like enemies. Right up until Dad and Michael arrive and then suddenly they're united. Temporarily, at least.

Gabriel takes Cas home soon after that. And if he lingers before he goes back to the Novak house, no one could blame him.

It's a week later that the first bruise appears on Gabriel's face. Cas is asleep and Gabriel is carrying him. It's later than normal, and John would've gone to get Cas himself but Gabriel called and told him to wait and not much more.

Gabriel doesn't even turn on the light when he enters, trying not to wake anyone. But John couldn't sleep without knowing and Gabe is just loud enough for John to hear him, so John goes out to check.

Gabriel is bending down, setting Cas on the couch, and when he pulls back and his head lifts, John sees it. Darkness stuck like a smear to Gabriel's jaw. Cold drops like lead into John's stomach.

"Did someone hit you?" he whispers.

Gabriel startles. He hadn't realized John was there. He grins, face hardly more than shadows. "Hickey," he says.

It's definitely not. "Gabriel?" John takes a step forward.

Gabriel takes a step back. "Just came to drop Cas off. He didn't get dinner so make sure he gets a big breakfast." He clicks his tongue. "See ya."

"Did you get dinner?" John asks. He hadn't thought about this before now. Thought about the other kids in Cas's family. Cas is the youngest, but that doesn't mean the others are better off, does it?

"Not hungry." Gabriel slinks out the door before John can stop him.

John looks at Cas, pulls out the kid's blankets and makes sure he's comfortable.

The next few nights go much the same. Sometimes Cas is awake, sometimes he's not.

Gabriel starts to look more and more tired.

John's not sure what changed. They're coming later and later. It worries him. Worries Mary.

Cas doesn't stop moving like an injured person-he looks healthier and healthier, though-but Gabriel starts to. And when they come in one night and Gabe just sort of drops down beside the couch, John pulls out a few more blankets. What's one more?


	7. Chapter 7

It really is a nice car. Sharp, deep red edges. The cherry mustang.

Cas hates nice cars. What's wrong with driving a beat-up old station wagon or minivan? Nothing. He'd love it if his family had a minivan. They're too busy worrying about whether or not everything looks nice. Cas is sick of nice.

He needs to do his chores before Gabriel gets back from work. Before their father does. But that stupid car is there and Cas knows it's not a good idea.

Cas goes in anyway. Michael and Lucifer are nowhere to be seen. Upstairs, probably. With any luck they'll stay there today. Cas starts on his chores. Dishes first.

He drops one. It chips but doesn't break and Cas shoves it to the bottom of the stack. A missing one would be noticed. A chipped one will be too but maybe not for a while. Cas tries not to panic. He fails. Dread makes him clumsy with the rest of his chores and that's really, really not good.

Gabriel gets home and Cas is glad to see him. Runs up to him. "The store. Take me to the store. Gabriel, please."

Then their father gets home. Early.

He has a quiet presence, but he fills the room. The door closes behind him.

'What?' Gabriel is mouthing at Cas.

Cas just shakes his head and pulls back, waiting behind the couch. Father won't notice. It's just a little chip on a plate at the bottom of the stack. A stack of ten. There are only six in the family. It's fine. And they never even eat all together. Cas is still trying not to panic.

"Chores done?" Father asks. Chuck, his name is, and that's what everyone usually calls him. Everyone but Cas.

Cas nods. "Yes."

Father hums. There's something tired about his presence. Old and weary and sick of everything. "Done right?"

Cas struggles not to bite his lip. Not to let on that anything went wrong. Gabriel is watching intently, trying to ask with his eyes why Cas needed to go to the store. Figure out if he needs to keep dad from noticing something. Cas very deliberately doesn't look at him. "Yes, sir," he says to Chuck. What an ugly name. It doesn't suit this man. Father doesn't either, really, but it's all Cas has.

Father hums again. Lower. "Let's see."

They do their walkaround. Slower than normal, more detailed, almost like Father knows that something is wrong and he's scrutinizing everything trying to find it.

Gabriel is following them around. Trying to ask Cas what it is.

Cas doesn't have the wherewithal to respond, too busy trying to keep his panic at bay, too worried his father would notice him mouthing back to Gabriel.

Father finds quite a few things wrong or forgotten. He always does. Cas fixes them while Father watches with an ever-deepening frown.

'What?' Gabriel mouths. 'What do you need?'

Cas just shakes his head. He finishes cleaning—recleaning—the bathroom sink.

Father moves to the hall closet.

'Are you hungry?' Gabriel whisper-mouths. 'Hungry?' he pats his stomach, eyes wide, mouthing slow, like he's not sure Cas understands. Then he mouths something that Castiel doesn't understand, pointing over his shoulder toward the front door.

"Gabriel," Father says. "What are you muttering about?"

Gabriel snaps around. "Just wondering what's for dinner, Chuck. Some of your kids are looking real thin, don't you think?"

"Don't," Cas whispers.

Miracle of miracles, Gabriel listens. He bites his tongue, glowering but silent as their father rants.

"Do your chores right for once, maybe you'd earn dinner…" Cas tunes out the rest. Doesn't mean to, but his focus just sort of slips away because he's so tired of it. No, that's not why. He wishes it was. It's the panic skittering down his senses wondering if this will be what pushes Father over the edge today. Wondering if Gabriel will make it worse. He can't latch onto the words long enough to understand them. They just disappear. He's left hoping Father didn't ask anything, and nodding slowly just in case.

Father turns back around. "Castiel, these towels are out of order."

"Sorry." Cas slips forward.

Gabriel continues glowering in the background. Like he's trying to challenge Chuck nonverbally.

Father continues checking all the chores.

The blinds are open. A cherry mustang right outside. It's Lucifer's car. And Castiel is pretty sure it's the reason Father likes Lucifer. He likes the car. Likes it sitting in his driveway for the neighbors to see. Likes how expensive it looks. Castiel prefers Gabriel's ugly, beat-up truck. The one he has to park two blocks away because Father hates it. Because Gabriel was supposed to sell it and didn't because Gabriel never does anything he's supposed to do.

They reach the kitchen. Cas's feet stutter over the threshold a little. Father's not too thorough with dishes usually. Too much of a hassle to go through one by one. He opens the cupboard, pulls a few out, counts them. Usually.

Today, he's thorough. He does the cups first, and Castiel bites back panic as he sees that Father is pulling them out one by one and looking carefully over them. He doesn't realize he's moving backward until he runs into Gabriel.

He also doesn't realize it's Gabriel at first, and jolts away in panic, arms moving up to shield his head and torso. Then Cas sees who it is and his arms drop. He tries to slow his breathing back to normal, eyes finding Father still going through cups and locking there. Mugs, now.

Gabriel follows his gaze and frowns. 'Dishes?' he mouths.

Cas doesn't see. He's watching Father.

It's just a little chip. Maybe he won't notice. Maybe he won't pull out the plates.

Gabriel sets a hand on his shoulder. "Dishes?" he breathes, voice barely there. "You needed a replacement?"

Cas doesn't respond. Doesn't want to. Doesn't need to.

Gabriel, hand still on Cas's shoulder, pulls him a little farther from Chuck and a little closer to the door. "How bad?"

Cas just shakes his head, still watching Father. He's doing the silverware now.

"Do we need to leave?"

"What are you muttering about?" Father asks, turning to look at them.

"I don't know," Cas says, not sure who he's responding to, eyes on his father.

Gabriel, surprisingly, doesn't say anything.

Father huffs and turns back around, "Then be quiet." He pulls out the plates. It's the longest moment of Cas's life, watching him go through them. Gabriel seems to feel the tension and tightens his hand on Cas's shoulder.

Cas tries not to squirm away from it.

Father lifts the second-to-last plate and stills. The chip is right there. Bigger than Cas remembers. Father's face is unreadable. "Where's Michael?" he asks, because dishes are Michael's chores, really, and he was the one who was supposed to do them. Michael makes Cas do them. Father doesn't know that.

Gabriel pulls Cas back out of the kitchen with him. "We'll go get him."

Michael is going to be pissed. He's the one to be scared of.

Gabriel tugs Cas up the stairs. He shoves him toward his room. "You have thirty seconds to grab whatever you want."

Cas stands in the doorway and doesn't move any further. "What?"

"Pack, now. We're leaving."

"What?"

"Pack."

"Gabe, we can't just—"

And then Gabriel is gone, down the hall, shouting at Michael, "Michael, Chuck wants you in the kitchen!"

"Gabe!" Cas shouts.

Gabe uses his fingers to make a three and a zero before he disappears around the corner. Three, zero. Thirty. Thirty seconds.

Cas turns to stare at his room. He just stands there.

Michael and Lucifer walk past. They go down the stairs.

Thirty seconds pass. A minute.

Gabriel comes back down the hall, a duffel bag over his shoulder. "Cassie, I told you to pack." He brushes past Cas and into his room, grabbing Cas's backpack, yanking open his dresser, stuffing things inside.

Cas stands there watching him. "Gabe, we can't just leave."

"Sure, we can." Gabe keeps throwing things in his bag haphazardly, grabbing whatever suits his fancy.

"Father's downstairs. What are you gonna do, climb out the window?"

"If we have to. And he doesn't care, anyway."

"Gabe."

"Anything else you wanted?" The backpack is basically full. Gabe is scanning the room for final items.

"Where would we even go?"

"Anywhere." Gabe grabs something off the desk and shoves it into the bag, zipping it up afterwards.

Cas watches from the doorway. "Do you have any money? I don't. What, we're gonna live on the streets somewhere and hope CPS doesn't come calling? Think about this for a second."

"We'll stay in my truck 'til I've saved up enough."

That's a horrible idea. Cas starts shaking his head. "School?"

"I'll sign you up somewhere."

"You're not my legal guardian, they won't let you—"

"We're going. We'll figure it out." Gabe slings the backpack over his shoulder, duffel over the other one. He grabs Cas's shoulder and points him toward the door. "Come on, let's go. Come on." He keeps shoving Cas, down the hall and toward the stairs.

Cas doesn't want to go. He's pushing back and Gabriel starts pushing harder. "Ow. Gabe, you're hurting me."

Gabe flinches back as if struck, letting go immediately. "Sorry." He moves around, down the first couple steps, waving him to follow, "Come on, we don't have long."

Cas is halted at the top of the stairs. "Gabe. What are you doing?"

"Cassie, come on, please, we'll talk about it in the car."

"Gabe."

"_Cas_." Gabe is still waving him forward, taking another step down.

Cas doesn't move. "We need to fix my room before Father sees. Yours too, probably."

Gabriel's hands curl in frustration. He reaches out to grab Cas's arm and pulls back before he touches it, slipping down another step instead. "We're leaving."

Cas shakes his head. "No, we're not."

"Yes, we are."

"Tonight, we are." Cas tilts his head. "To the Winchester's, like always. And then we'll come back here again. That's how it works."

"No. No, we're _leaving_."

Cas shakes his head.

They run out of time.

Father comes out of the kitchen first. He raises an eyebrow at Gabriel on the stairs, bags over both shoulders. "Going somewhere?"

Gabe curls his mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Father frowns. He ignores it, though. Ignores most things aside from the house and the cars. "Make sure you get your chores done right tomorrow." He walks past the stairs and down a hall to the master bedroom.

Michael comes out next, Lucifer with him. Michael is glaring even before he notices them. Once he finds them, his presence turns dark and demanding.

Gabriel climbs back up a step, closer to Castiel, glaring in return, daring them to do something.

Michael's gaze shifts past him. "Castiel, I need to speak with you."

"So, speak," Gabriel says.

It's Lucifer, really, who goads Michael on. He's murmuring something to him even now.

Michael starts up the stairs, Lucifer with him.

Gabriel, well… he's never been one to wait. He sloughs the bags off his shoulders and balls his hands into fists, pulling them up. "Don't be a dick, Michael. Just go back to your room."

He does. Michael does. He walks past them—pulling back to avoid Gabriel's wild swing—he walks past them and down the hall toward his room.

And it's terrifying.

Lucifer grins as he passes.

Gabriel keeps himself between them and Cas as best he can.

There will be retribution for getting Michael in trouble with Father, that much they all know. But they're holding off. Waiting until Gabriel's gone and Cas is alone, maybe. Waiting until Father is gone so he won't hear.

And Cas is scared. Scared about what they'll think up during all that waiting. Scared about where and when they'll catch him. How bad it will be when they do.

Gabriel picks the bags back up. "We're leaving," he says. He grabs Cas's hand and Cas goes with him.

"Only to Winchester's," Cas mumbles.

Gabriel doesn't respond. That's okay, though, because in the end, he does take them to the Winchester's house.

Cas loves this house. The Winchester house. It's… comfortable. Mary's been talking about buying cots or a bed, but Cas loves the couch. And he can't ask for more. Can't want for more. Shouldn't. He doesn't expect it, definitely. And he knows that there are lots of things people talk about doing but never actually do. Trying to make themselves feel better about something. Cas lets Mary talk about cots and beds, and nods, because it's expected and it's polite, and not because he expects anything to come of it.

She fusses over him and the blankets. It's strange, because she's not usually up to do it. Cas isn't usually over so early.

They eat dinner at the dinner table and it's loud. It's weird. On the rare occasions when Cas's family eats together, they don't talk, they just eat. The Winchesters talk. They talk about how their days went and about future plans and Cas just eats in a numb, wide-eyed silence, a little scared he'll ruin it if he moves too fast or makes a sound.

And then Mary, carefully arranging her food onto her fork, says, "What did you do today, Cas?"

Cas freezes. Gabriel's sitting next to him because Mary somehow talked him into it even though Gabe was all set on disappearing.

"I…" Cas looks around at Dean and Sam and Mr. Winchester, searching for the right answer and not finding it. "…went to school?"

Mary smiles and nods. "And how was that? Learn anything interesting?"

"Um…" Cas looks to Gabe for help. Gabe just raises his eyebrows and nudges his arm. Useless. "No?"

Mary nods very seriously. "Dean says you're in honors math?" She takes a bite of her potatoes and peas.

Cas nods.

"Do you like it?"

"…Sure."

Mary nods again. "Math was never my strong suit. But John made it all the way through calculus, so if you ever have trouble with it, just ask him, he'll help you out."

Cas would die first. "Okay," he says anyway.

Mary moves on. "Gabriel, how was your day?"

Gabe grins. "Fantastic, thank you for asking. I must've made a hundred hamburgers today."

"No school?"

"Dropped out, actually." He bobs his head downward. "Kicked out, more like. School and me didn't really get along."

Mary nods. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Gabriel shrugs, but something close to regret doesn't quite roll off all the way. He takes a large bite of his roll.

Cas can't decide if he likes the talking at the dinner table or not.

They do a puzzle after dinner, it's the most bizarre thing in the entire world. Cas thought it was a joke at first. It wasn't a joke. Mary and Sam are very into it. Dean and John, not so much, but they participate. And they make Cas and Gabe participate too.

It's kind of fun. More challenging than Cas expected. And when the last piece is pushed in, and the strange storefront picture is completed and Sam smiles excitedly at him, it feels good.

The feeling stays. All through the talk about cots and beds and better pillows.

It's not until Gabe leaves in the middle of the night that the feeling turns sour.

He comes back two hours later. Cas pretends not to notice.

He doesn't pretend the next morning. "Where'd you sneak out to last night?" Cas asks.

Gabriel gives a half-shrug and slim little smile, looking terribly awkward trying and failing to fold the blankets properly. "Something I needed to do."

After school, Gabriel is waiting at the bus stop, sitting in the grass, picking at it, looking bored out of his mind. He stands when he sees Cas coming off the bus, wiping his hands on his pants. "How was school? Good? Good. Come with me." He starts down the street.

Cas watches him. "Um…" he turns and points the other direction. "We live that way."

"We're going to the Winchester's. You are, anyway. I'm walking you there."

Cas doesn't move. This is making him nervous for some reason. "I have chores."

"Nope. Did 'em already."

Gabe is making him nervous, because Gabe seems more serious than normal, but he also seems more restless, the way he's tapping his fingers on his legs like that, walking away from Cas and then back toward Cas and then away from Cas. He's pacing. "You had work," Cas says.

Gabriel shakes his head, looking around, but not at Cas. He's peering around like he's looking for someone. "I'm working the late shift now." He starts walking away again. "We gotta go, Cassie, come on."

Cas turns around and walks the other way, back toward their own house.

Gabe wrenches past him, blocking his way, throat jumping. "I did your chores, I swear, you're good to go. I'll do the walkaround with dad." It's not his face that tips Cas off. It's his stance. Gabriel has always been uninhibited when it comes to personal space. Always touching and crowding and leaning in way too close. And he's leaning in now, but with his shoulders all hunched up toward his face, and he seems more like a little kid leaning in for comfort, begging their parent to take them home because they're scared, than he does like an obnoxious older brother who lacks boundaries.

"What did you do?" Cas asks.

Gabe shakes his head. "What? Nothing. Michael's still pissed about the plate, remember? We'll give him a week of two to simmer down."

Cas doesn't quite believe him. He tilts back, unsure what feels so off and it's making something like fear pool in his stomach. "I have to be there when Father checks the chores. You know he likes us to be there." Zachariah and Balthazar tend to disappear. Anna goes if she can, but she has work most days. Cas is expected to be there. Father gets disappointed and frustrated when he isn't because he's the only one who ever is and he takes it out on Michael because Michael's supposed to be in charge, and Michael takes it out on Cas.

"Not today, you don't." Gabriel reaches a slow, hesitant hand out, grabbing Cas's shoulder, trying to turn him, "Come on."

Cas humors him. He'll go to the Winchester's house for a little while and then head home.

They only make it halfway there.

A car slams over the curb next to them. It was a gorgeous cherry mustang at one point, probably. Now it's scratched and dented and covered in an ugly neon rainbow assortment of—spray paint, it looks like. Graffiti.

"What did you do?" Cas asks Gabe, horrified, unable to tear his eyes away.

Lucifer is vaulting through the banged up door, screaming at them.

Gabriel is shoving at Cas. "Go to Winchester's." He backs away when Cas is too petrified to move, because they all know he's the one who did it and not Cas, so of course he's the one Lucifer is after.

Lucifer doesn't veer toward Gabe. He's making a beeline for Cas and Cas finds himself backing away, hands held up, "I'll help you clean it. I didn't-" Cas's head shakes, but no more words come out. Lucifer doesn't stop.

"He didn't do it," Gabe says, moving forward again, trying to get between. "I did, obviously, or can't you read?"

Lucifer charges toward him. "Oh, I can read," his fist pulls back, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't run." He punches Gabriel in the face, but Gabriel stays up and shoves at him and a moment later they're rolling on the ground.

Cas just stands there too terrified to move.

Something falls out of Gabe's pocket as they roll, landing on the grass. His phone.

Cas slips forward and grabs it, dodging a wayward punch.

He memorized the number. Just in case. Just because. Because he stared at it for so long wondering if it was a real thing he could really do. Call. Just to talk, or to get help, or to ask what was for dinner so he had something to look forward to. Not that he ever called. Just stared at the number and pretended he could. Imagined what he would say. Imagined that no one would be bothered. That they might actually be excited to hear his voice. He didn't dare call, because what if they weren't? What if they were annoyed? That doesn't really matter now.

Cas calls. He hesitates over the call button because he's still not sure if he really can, but the fight is getting more and more violent and so he calls.

"Hello?" Mary answers. John is at work. Of course he is. Cas can't ask Mary to come. She—he can't ask that.

"Um… Ne—Nevermind." His voice doesn't come out right.

"Cas?"

He should hang up. Hang up and help Gabriel. He can't seem to move.

Mary's voice grows worried. "Cas? Is that you? Do you need something?"

"Nevermind. I just… um…." Why is this so hard? This shouldn't be so hard.

"Cas?"

Cas's voice comes out in an almost sob and he's not sure why. "Is Mr. Winchester there?"

"No. No, I'm sorry, sweetie—" she does sound sorry— "he's at work. I'm home, though. What do you need?"

Lucifer is bigger than Gabriel. Older. He has him pinned now, punching him over and over.

"Forget it," Cas says, and hates himself for it. "Forget it, forget it, forget it. I'm sorry." He hangs up.

Gabriel manages to flip them somehow.

They're fighting in someone's yard. That someone opens their door and starts shouting at them. "I'm calling the police," they say, and they sound like they mean it.

Gabriel's phone rings. Rings and rings and Cas just drops it. It rings into the grass. Nice grass. Freshly mowed.

Other neighbors are opening their doors now. A few men come out, running over to pull Lucifer and Gabriel apart, limbs kicking and punching all the way.

The cops come and somehow Gabriel gets off with a fine, pending further investigation about the destruction of the car.

Someone calls Chuck.

Chuck is furious. Disappointed and bitter and sick of his children screwing everything up for him. It's Michael's boyfriend, and his car isn't worthy of the driveway anymore and Michael gets blamed for the embarrassment Father went through getting that call from his neighbors that he tries so hard to impress. Michael gets blamed for everything, really. He always does. Father must yell at him for two hours before he makes him clean the entire house. The outside. Every stain, every watermark, every weed, or he won't be welcome anymore. And Cas knows that Michael doesn't save up money. He spends and spends and spends and he could never afford to live anywhere without free rent.

So, Michael cleans. And Cas, catching glimpses through windows and when Father calls him outside to yell at him for letting Gabriel do that, when Cas is the responsible one and he should've done something… Cas can't help but feel like every harsh, angry movement of Michael scrubbing at the walls is a promise of what he's going to do to Cas and Gabriel when he gets the chance.

Father doesn't let anyone leave. He'd lock them in their rooms if their rooms had locks. Instead, he sits on the stairs and shouts every time he hears a noise.

Gabriel slinks out of his room and goes to Cas's, slipping in more or less quietly. His face is swollen and gross, and his good hand is too, but he looks at Cas and asks, "You okay?"

Cas nods. "Are _you_?"

Gabriel shrugs it off. "Peachy." He sits himself on the floor by Cas's bed.

"You should go back to your room."

"Nah. Think I'll stay here tonight."

Cas wants to argue. Wants to be reasonable and responsible. Instead, he tosses his comforter over to Gabriel and curls up in his sheets. He faces the wall.

"Mary called," says Gabriel. "And Dean, and John, and Sam. You wanna talk to them?"

Cas shakes his head.

"They wanted to talk to you, heard about what happened."

"I'm tired," Cas says. Father was right, Cas failed him. Failed everybody.

Gabriel has no boundaries. Something beeps. "Oh, look, it's dialing."

"Don't. I don't wanna talk."

"It's not me. It's like the phone wants you to talk them or something."

"Not tonight, Gabriel."

Gabriel's voice changes. "Hello?"

"You called _them_," Cas mutters.

Gabe ignores him. "Yes, he's right here, he's so excited to speak with you. Cas?"

Cas doesn't turn around.

Gabriel gets up with a groan and leans over him, pressing the phone to his ear.

It's Mary's voice coming through, sweet and soft and kind. "Cas, are you there? Are you alright, honey?"

Cas's eyes burn. He reaches up to hold the phone. "Yes, Mrs. Winchester."

"Oh, sweetie, why didn't you tell me what was going on when you called earlier?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, don't feel bad, I just wish I could've been there to help you. Did you get hurt?"

"No. Gabe did."

"Oh, I know Gabe did, sweetie, see Jody's a family a friend and she's the cop who took his statement."

"Oh," Cas says, and doesn't know what else to say.

"Were you scared?"

Cas has never been asked that before. It seems like a strange thing to ask. What would it matter if he was scared? It wouldn't. Doesn't. He was, though. "I don't know," is what he says, because he doesn't know if he should have been.

"Are you both okay? Do you need anything?"

"We're okay."

"Gabriel said you have to stay there tonight?" Mary asks.

Cas moves the phone to his other ear and curls around it. "Yeah. Father's upset."

"But you're okay?"

"We're okay." He almost believes it, too.

"I'm so relieved. Will you be able to come over in the morning? We can have a big breakfast all ready for you and your brother."

"I don't know."

"I'll pack you a big lunch just in case you can't, alright? Tell Gabe to come over when he can so he can have something too."

"Alright."

Mary hums. "Do you want to talk to anybody else? Dean, maybe?"

"No, thank you. I'm alright."

"If you're sure. Get a good night's sleep, okay, Cas?"

"You—you too."

"Thank you," she says, and she sounds so sincere that it almost hurts.

"I'll see you… tomorrow?" Cas asks.

"Yes, I hope so. I look forward to it."

She looks forward to it. Cas curls up tighter. "Good night, Mrs. Winchester."

"Good night, Cas."

Cas rolls over and hands the phone back to Gabriel.

Cas doesn't sleep well, but that's okay.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I haven't updated for a while, so even though this is short and nothing really happens, I'm gonna go ahead and post it. I haven't abandoned any of my stories yet, I'll try to update more often, sorry for the wait._

* * *

Gabriel wakes Cas with a hand on his shoulder and Cas jolts into the wall before he realizes who it is.

Gabriel pretends not to notice. "Chuck's gone. Let's go before Michael gets up." His face looks worse. He hands Castiel his backpack.

They walk down the street to Gabriel's truck. It's quiet, which is weird, because it's never quiet with Gabriel, but Gabriel's not even trying to fill the silence. He's just driving, cut-up knuckles framed on the wheel, bruises stark in the dawning light.

Gabriel is always moving too, restless and bored and teasing. Cas thinks it might be ADD. He's not moving now, not any more than he needs to and Cas isn't sure if it's because it hurts to move or because of something else, but whatever it is, it's unsettling. He's slow and deliberate and he's staring at the road with a focus that Cas has never seen him have before.

The truck pulls over by the curb just outside the Winchester house. Gabriel doesn't move to get out. Neither does Cas.

Gabriel turns to look at him, hands falling from the wheel with a sigh. "Listen," he says, and he's not his usual obnoxious self. Serious fits him like a too large clown wig, but he wears it anyway. "I don't think you should go back."

Castiel can't follow him when he's not behaving normally, can't interpret his actions and figure out how he wants Cas to respond. He stares blankly, panicked just a little because this Gabriel is acting too much like father and Michael and Castiel doesn't know how to interact with him correctly.

Gabriel stares.

"What?" Cas asks. He's not sure what to infer; shouldn't go back home? Back to the Winchester's? Back where? This is going to be a foreign conversation, he's sure, and it's making him nervous. Ask too many questions and Gabriel will get upset, just like everyone else does.

"It's not safe," Gabriel says. Castiel can't read his expressions. They're not as rich as they usually are, not as dramatic.

And Castiel still doesn't know what they're talking about. He doesn't dare ask again. Gabriel is scaring him, and not only because Cas doesn't know what to expect from him right now, but also because Cas feels like Gabriel is about to do something big. Something stupid, like graffitiing Lucifer's car, and getting himself hurt.

"Okay?" Cas tries.

Gabriel give him a more intense look. "I mean it, Cas, you stay away. I packed a bag for you, it's in the back. If there's anything else you want, tell me. I'm renting an apartment close by, and you're welcome to come whenever, but we both know I'd make a crappy guardian."

'What?' is on the tip of Cas's tongue but he doesn't say it. He's not sure he understands. "I... okay?"

Gabriel nods. "Okay. Now go in and have breakfast. I'll see you later today."

"You're not coming?"

Gabriel just shakes his head and waves him on.

It's different somehow. Walking up to the house, watching Gabriel drive away. More final.

Castiel stands on the walkway with a bag in each hand and stares out at the road. The world doesn't work like this. He can't just leave and never go back, there are rules. Rules he has to follow.

Gabriel's never been one for rules.

"Cas?"

The sound of his name startles Castiel into the dropping one of the bags and he spins around violently.

Dean is standing on the porch looking at him. "You gonna come inside?"

"I-" Cas cuts himself off, trying to relax again, but his mind is racing. Where does he go if he can't go home? If Gabriel doesn't want him? What will the Winchesters think? That it's against the law, that's what they'll think. They'll send him back and then that will upset Gabriel and father might find out. And what is Cas supposed to do? Where is he supposed to live? How is he meant to take care of himself if he can't go back, can't do his odd jobs for the neighbors?

Dean is still looking at him, waiting, walking down the porch steps. "Did you get dinner last night?"

Why on earth would that matter? Cas tries to give Dean a confused look, but he's not controlling his emotions as much as normal and it comes off disgusted instead. He should be responding to these questions verbally, he knows, people get upset when he doesn't respond, but he just can't find the capacity.

Dean is close now, bending down to pick up the bag Cas dropped. The one Gabriel packed. "Come on, let's go inside, breakfast is almost ready and it's kinda cold out."

This is easy, this is so easy. It flies right past him. "What?" Cas asks.

"Inside," Dean repeats, slowly. He takes a step toward the door.

Cas doesn't follow. Doesn't feel like he should.

"Cas?"

Cas finds a sudden interest in the path below his feet. "I'm not hungry. I'll see you at school." He reaches out a hand for his other bag.

Dean doesn't hand it to him. "Come inside anyway, come on."

Cas sighs and follows him.

The Winchesters are... excited, almost, to see him. Cas doesn't know what to do with that. Doesn't know how to respond to it. They throw food at him, and questions and concerns, and Castiel manages with nods and shrugs until Dean takes notice of the bag he carried in and asks, "What's in there?"

Cas follows his gaze and shakes his head, not entirely sure himself. "It's nothing, just some... Gabriel..." Cas trails off, working through possible explanations in his mind rather than out loud. "Extra clothes and things, I think," he settles on, "Gabriel made me bring it."

"Where is Gabriel?" Mary asks, and Cas feels like he's being accused of something.

"He... bought an apartment? I don't know."

Mary frowns at him.

Castiel's shoulders hunch up unintentionally. He finds the floor with his gaze, feeling he's done something wrong and not quite sure what. Mary wanted to see Gabriel, wanted him here, and Cas didn't make sure he came in. He's disappointed her. Or maybe it's that he should know if Gabriel bought an apartment, should know what's going on, should have asked. Shouldn't have an extra bag taking up extra space.

Sam glances over at the oven and notes the time, thankfully, saying, "We should go if we're gonna catch the bus."

Mary nods, still frowning, and Castiel slips off the stool. He takes both bags.


	9. Chapter 9

Cas goes home after school. Sort of. He doesn't go in, doesn't walk up to the door. His hands ache across the palm where they're holding the bag Gabriel packed. It's heavier than Cas wants it to be. He still hasn't looked inside, but he's starting to wonder what could make it so heavy. Books, perhaps, but Castiel didn't have any books in his room. Just a textbook, in his backpack, like always.

Castiel's feet might as well be part of the sidewalk for all the good they're doing him. He wonders if he looks like a runaway. Wonders if he is. He sets the bag down.

One of the windows is broken. Castiel's window, the one in his bedroom. It's broken. Castiel hardly notices.

He sits on the ground, back against the packed bag, his backpack fallen beside him. He sits so that he's not facing the house. Sits so that he's facing the Winchester house, though it's not visible.

He doesn't know what to do so he doesn't do anything. He doesn't want to think about the weight of Michael's coming retribution—probably the reason his window is broken—so he doesn't think about much of anything.

It's windy today, the slightest of breezes rolling through the brightly colored trees, upsetting a few leaves and making them fall. Castiel will be raking them up again soon. He likes raking. Likes the crunch of leaves and the repetition of movement. Raking doesn't require much of him.

Gabriel would be upset if he came by and saw Cas sitting there. That's why he gets up and starts walking. Mindlessly, watching his feet on the sidewalk. Streets pass by in blurs of red and orange and grey. And then he stops, knowing where he is even before he looks up.

The impala isn't in the driveway.

That means it's early. Too early for Castiel to be here. Castiel stands, staring at the house, feeling almost like a leaf about to blow away in this breeze, floating off to nowhere.

And then the bag in his hand rings. Castiel frowns down. It's the bag Gabriel packed. Castiel sits on the sidewalk, opening the bag and digging through it. A phone is at the bottom, ringing and ringing.

Cas looks around, wondering if this is a joke or a call meant for someone else, but no else is out. The phone rings again.

Castiel pulls it up to answer it. "Hello?"

"This is Cas, right?"

"Yes?"

"Cas, it's Dean. Gabriel gave me this number."

Castiel refolds his legs to sit more comfortably. "Oh. Yes, I think it's his phone. Sorry, he's not with me right now."

"No, I... he said it was your phone."

"Oh." Castiel tilts his head, wondering if Gabriel mentioned getting him a phone and Cas just wasn't listening. Wondering what he's meant to do with it. "Okay."

"So, you know that book I was reading?"

"Yes?" Cas hesitates, unsure where this conversation is going.

"I just got to this part where the main guy..." Dean talks about his book and Castiel listens, feeling grounded by the voice somehow. Dean just talks. He asks Castiel questions every once in a while, and it's easy. It's so easy. There's no agenda here, no hints at things that Castiel has failed to do or should be doing. Dean just talks. Talks about his book, about sword fights being so much better in movies and poisons that get waylaid and Castiel feels the breeze but it seems so much smaller than it was.

"What time are you coming over?"

"Hmm?" Castiel got lost in the story.

"Are you gonna make it to dinner today?" Dean asks.

Castiel is there already, outside, but he doesn't say that. He says, "That depends on what we're having."

Dean laughs.

It's a good day all of a sudden. A really good day. Better than Castiel has had in a long time. "I can be there anytime, actually."

"No chores?"

"Not today." And it feels true. Feels good. _No chores_.

"Then come over, we can watch Raiders of the Lost Ark." Dean sounds excited. Excited that Cas can come over so early.

"Okay," Cas says. He's excited too.

* * *

Castiel has been coming over earlier for the past week, and John is glad. He's staying in the mornings to get ready for school, and he's coming over before dark, and he's happier and he's talking a little bit more and he's looking fuller and he's not appearing with new injuries...

It's good. It's a good thing. But John can't but wonder what's changed.

Gabriel appears once a day, popping in without announcement and disappearing just as randomly. He still looks tired, but it's a different tired than it was before. Less worrisome.

It only makes John worry more. Things like this don't just fix themselves. He drives by their house.

The lawn is unmowed, a window is broken, and there are weeds starting to sprout up on the front walkway. Last time he was here, the place was immaculate. Scarily immaculate. Now it's scarily _not_.

There are four other kids living here, supposedly. At least two under 18.

John's not quite sure what he should be doing about it, if he needs to be doing anything about it.

He's not sure what changed.

* * *

Michael shows up at school. Sans Lucifer, which is a surprise. Castiel gets called down to the office, expecting Gabriel and getting Michael instead.

Michael smiles, but it's thin and stretched and insincere.

Castiel draws to a halt in the doorway.

The vice principal looks up from her desk. "Castiel, your brother is here to take you home, there's been a family emergency."

"Where are Balthazar and Zachariah?" Castiel asks, hoping they're on the way, that they'll provide a buffer of sorts, that he won't be stuck alone with Michael.

"Seems they're already home," the vice principal says. He smiles, "Michael didn't quite catch you before you left for the bus. Please, send my best wishes to your father."

"Um..." Castiel glances at Michael, then back at the vice principal, Mr. Parken. "That's okay, actually, I'd rather stay."

"Oh, no," Mr. Parken shakes his head, "Family takes priority sometimes, we understand, I'll let your teachers know, so they can help catch you up when you come back."

Castiel shakes his head right back, but he can't find the right words.

Michael gets up from where he was seated and Castiel finds himself moving backward like a magnet with a like charge. He looks at Mr. Parken again. "Do you mind if I tell my friend; ask him to get the assignments for me before we go? I don't want to fall behind." He's lying. Lying through his teeth, and he knows he shouldn't be, but he can't stop.

Mr. Parken nods, "I'm sure that'd be fine. Do you know what class they're in? I'll call them up."

"No, that's okay." Castiel is moving already, "I'll go tell them. I'll just be a second." Castiel doesn't look at Michael, worried that if he looks he'll be stopped dead in his tracks. Castiel slams sideways through the office door and out into the hall, trying not to move into a full-out sprint.

Dean is in biology. Castiel doesn't go there. He just keeps going, down the hall and around the corner and out the doors at the other end. He slips along the wall and into the bushes facing the soccer field. Sort of. It's fall, and they're not as full as they used to be and they don't hide him very well. He has the phone Gabriel got him and he should call someone, he really should, but he doesn't know who to call. He's supposed to be in school, and whoever he calls might get mad. Maybe not Gabriel, but Castiel doesn't call. If he needs to, he can. He doesn't need to yet.

He sits in the bushes, trying not to move because every shift of his form is accompanied by a crunch of leaves.

The speaker comes on after a little while, calling him back to the office. He doesn't go. They call him again.

Dean texts him. _Where are you? Is something going on?_

Castiel starts to text back, then stops, because everything he can think of to respond with is a lie and he doesn't want to lie. It takes him a moment to come up with something truthful. _Nothing important_, he sends.

_Okay._

Castiel stays in the bushes the rest of the school, relieved when no one finds him. The bus ride home feels more like a car chase than a bus ride, and Castiel stays low in the seat beside Dean, away from the window. They reach their stop and Castiel has to refrain from sprinting. He walks clumsily next to Dean, head turning every which-way, waiting for Michael to appear.

Dean is trying to hold a conversation with him and Castiel can't keep up.

But the moment Castiel gets inside the Winchester house he calms down, feeling inexplicably safer.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel is usually the first one up and ready in the morning.

Today he's laying on the couch, wrapped up with his blankets and pillow. Awake, definitely, but not getting ready.

"Castiel, time to get up," John says, "Come get breakfast and then get dressed."

Castiel burrows into the side of the couch a little more. "I don't want to go to school." There's something in his voice, low and stretched, that reminds John about the way his mother looked every time he asked where dad was. The look on her face as she said the word 'father' and tried to explain to a young boy something she didn't know the answer to herself. Henry Winchester was something they learned to resign themselves out of. It took longer for John, and he was angry and petulant and he blamed his father for everything.

Castiel is whining that he doesn't want to go to school, but he's never whined to John before and it's too exaggerated and at the same time, too thin. Like a little boy whining to his mother about why he doesn't want to learn to ride his bike without training wheels without ever mentioning the real reason, that his father was supposed to teach him.

John doesn't know Castiel well enough, doesn't know what's been going on in his life well enough to guess the real reason for not wanting to go to school. He sits down on the coffee table, ready to question it out. "Are you sick?" he asks.

Castiel shakes his head. "I like it _here,_" he says, as though that explains everything.

A frown mars John's face. He chews on that, trying and failing to find some deeper meaning.

Mary glances over at them from the kitchen, mouth opening as she folds down the ends of the lunch bags. The words never come. She leaves the bags and wanders over. "What's wrong?"

John gives her a halfhearted shake of his head.

Castiel hides his head in the cushions and pillow. "I can't go today," he says again, resigned and factual and as quiet and calm as ever. "I can't."

Mary crouches down in front of the armrest. "What do you mean?"

"I can't go to school." Castiel pulls the blanket up a little higher. It's unusual for him not to face them. Not to watch them. Unusual for him to turn his back at all... and just a little too unsettling. "I can't be there," he says.

John remembers that, from the first night Cas stayed. _Couldn't be there._ He's starting to think he understands. "Bullies?"

But Castiel shakes his head and John's frown deepens.

"Do you have a test or something?" Mary asks. "Are you just nervous? If you have something you haven't finished or aren't ready for, I'm sure we could talk to a teacher for you."

"No." Castiel shakes his head again. "I can't be there," he says. And he turns around and begs with wide eyes, "Please. Please, I _can't_." He's never asked for anything before and here he is begging them not to go to school.

"Okay," John says, decided. He shoves to his feet. "You still have to come eat breakfast, though. And we have to sort this out before tomorrow because it is required by law for you to go to school, but somehow I don't think _school _is the problem." That last part is half question, half statement. Castiel doesn't respond to it.

John leaves for work and the question of Castiel follows him all day.

* * *

Castiel stays at... at the Winchester's. He folds the blankets, packs away the pillow, and cleans up breakfast with Mrs. Winchester.

She opts for conversation, usually does. She talks about mindless things, mundane things, simple things. The smell of the counter cleaner; lemony. "Too lemony," she says. She talks about how loud the toaster is, how it makes her jump every time it goes off. She talks about the plant by the sink that she finally got the hang of watering. "It kept dying," she says, and Castiel sits on a stool and listens, watching her bustle around fixing things the way she likes them. Salt in front of the pepper, scrubber out of the sink, some strange little thing tied to the end of a string hanging from the ceiling that she has to reach out and swing every time she passes. "I over-watered it one day and under-watered it the next, and then I'd over-water again and then forget to water it, but I finally figured it out." She's proud, Castiel realizes. Proud of herself and the plant, and fond of it. "And I think it looks rather nice, don't you?"

It does look nice. Just a plant, no flowers or fruit. Just green leaves and thin, crooked, little branches. It looks very nice.

Mary wanders past the string and swings it. Castiel wonders if she even knows she's doing it. Her feet stop by his stool. "I'm going to the store later," Mary says. "Would you like to come? You could help me out by holding the shopping list. It's always funner with two." She's learned that Castiel declines when they ask if he would like to do something without saying anything else. Learned how to trick him into going.

He finds that he wants to go. Really, actually wants to. He nods.

Mary talks all the way to the store. Talks while they're there. Mindless things, simple things, little things. Castiel guides her down the list, holding it with both hands, keeping careful track of items.

In the middle of the store, halfway down the paper, she stops. Nowhere near anything on the list. Confused, Castiel peers down to see if there's something in front of her feet blocking her, but his eyes only find tiles.

Mary turns to walk through a furniture section, headboards on both sides. She's talking now, "I'd think you'd probably like a twin best, but we could get you something larger if you wanted, it's just that it wouldn't fit in Sam and Dean's room. That is, if that's where you'd prefer to put it."

Castiel trails after her, listening but not following, not sure what she's talking about. Something mindless, from the sound of it, the same way she's talked all day. It's not until she presses him to come look at the first mattress that he realizes. He draws to a stop, feeling hurt all of a sudden and not sure why. "What are we doing?" he asks. "Lightbulbs are next."

Mary huffs out a smile. "We're looking at beds first. We'll need help to get it out to the car, maybe, but we brought the truck and they'll wrap it up and it'll fit just fine. What kind of headboards do you like?" Easy. It's so easy for her to just talk. Easy and mindless.

Castiel shakes his head. He has a million things to say and can't say any of them. "What?"

Mary tilts her head like a little bird asking a question of the world. "I promised you a bed."

Castiel stares at her, feeling confused. There's an ache in his chest from her simple, easy words. He shakes his head to set her straight. Just talking, that's all it is. She's only talking. "It's just one of those things people say."

A slight frown mars her face. "No, Castiel. I promised you a bed, and I meant it."

"Oh." Castiel's mind leaves him after that. Of course she meant it, who is he to call her a liar? But he can't quite grasp this concept, can't quite determine what concept it is he's supposed to grasp. They buy a bed, box springs and sheets and all.

And then they go home. To her home. The Winchester's home. And Castiel sits on a stool, watching Mary reach out to swing the little object hanging down as she moves around the kitchen making them lunch.

She insists they eat on the couch, because John's not home and the couch is so much more comfortable than the too-tall stools. Mary likes her feet on the ground.

Her head is turned, looking at the painting on the wall, one she'd commented on a moment before and now seems content to sit and look at.

A foreign feeling sits, cross-legged, in Castiel's chest. "Mrs-" Cas cuts himself off and starts over. "Mary?"

Mary turns around and smiles. "Yes, Castiel?"

"I..." Shoulders hunch up while his head falls. "Michael came to check me out at school yesterday."

Mary's not entirely sure what to think of that. "Oh?" she asks.

Castiel nods. He opens his mouth to say more and then shuts it again. His shoulders rise up to his ears. He doesn't say anything else, no matter how Mary prompts, just shakes his head that he doesn't want to answer. He can't find the words to say anything else.

Mary smiles and stands. "That's okay," she says, "As long as you're okay?"

Castiel doesn't respond. Can't.

Mary's smile falters. Only for a moment before she throws it back up and holds out her hand. "Could I ask you to do something for me?" she asks.

A nod falls, small and wary.

Mary moves her fingers, extending her hand farther. "A harmless little thing, I'm just worried I might forget."

Castiel takes her hand and Mary tugs him around the couch and into the kitchen.

"Most plants only get watered once a week, but not this one. This little guy just loves water too much. Three ounces a day may seem small, but it means the world to him. Or her." Her feet stop just in front of the vent under the sink, Castiel just beyond it. "Would you mind taking over watering him for me?"

It feels like a very big thing. "I... Could I?"

"If you want to." That's all she says. No trick, no trap, no lure to stop him from saying no like he always does, when all they ask is if he wants to do something.

Castiel finds himself nodding anyway. "I want to, I do." It's strange, a strange feeling. He's never really wanted anything before, never felt that _wanting_ was something he was allowed to do. "I want to water it."

"I already watered it today, but you could start after school tomorrow?" she asks.

Oh. "I... I can try."

Mary bends down, putting herself closer to his eye level, her own eyes bright with intent. "I want you to promise me."

Castiel has a feeling in his bones that this is not a promise he can keep. He makes it anyway. "Of course, Mrs. Winchester, I'll water your plant for you. I promise."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Sorry for those of you who got updates for this chapter yesterday, I decided to work on it a little more. I'm trying really hard to finish this story._

* * *

Morning comes again all too quickly. Castiel readies himself for school mindlessly. He doesn't put up a fuss about going and Mary and John seem glad. Castiel follows Sam and Dean on the bus and sits, staring out the window. Not thinking, not thinking, not thinking. Don't think. The neighborhoods blur by. The bus stops. Castiel gets off. He walks across the pavement and stops a dozen feet before the doors, staring up at the name of the school.

He finds that his feet won't take him any further. Can't. Can't go in. Can't be here.

So he turns around and starts walking. No destination in mind, no thinking at all really, except to leave.

He doesn't realize where his feet are taking him until he's there, an hour and a half later, staring up at his house. His father's house. The window is still broken, the lawn hasn't been mowed, and Lucifer's car is back in the driveway, almost renewed to the state it was in prior to Gabriel's attack on it. Castiel can't be here either. He turns around and starts walking again, shrugging his backpack higher on his shoulders.

He gets himself good and lost and he stops walking to sit on the curb of a foreign old house, deemed safe because of the police car parked a few houses down on the other side of the street. Mindlessness is good, and he sits and sits and doesn't think.

Until he finds his hands pulling out his phone and scrolling through his meager contact list to find Gabriel's name. He doesn't call. Just slips the phone back into his pocket and keeps hold of it and stares out at the yard across from him.

Footsteps approach and Castiel assumes, foolishly, that they'll pass on by. They stop a foot away, accompanied by a commanding female voice, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Castiel doesn't bother looking up. "Teacher's work day."

"Really?" The feet step off the sidewalk and onto the street, further into his line of sight. "Then I guess my daughter, Alex, must be real bored right about now."

"I go to a private school." The lie just slips out.

One of the booted feet taps his tennis shoe. "No uniform."

Castiel furrows his brow and tries again. "I missed the bus?" He looks up and sees her face.

She's in uniform, county police, her short brown hair shifting as she tilts her head. "Well, yeah, you did, if you're waiting for it right now. It came three hours ago."

Castiel looks back at the yard across the street.

The woman sighs. She sinks down to sit on the curb next to him. "You ditched school to sit here and watch grass grow? No offense, but I figure if you're gonna ditch, you might as well make the most of it, right? So why aren't you out somewhere playing arcade games or painting walls?"

Castiel shrugs, his shoulders shielding him from her scrutiny.

She splays her hands out on the pavement behind her, watching the yard with him. "You got a name, kid?"

"Yes."

"Well, what is it?"

He doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to get dragged back to his house, to any house. Doesn't want to lie. "Shield of god," Castiel says. He's always felt strange knowing his name meant that, shield of god, like he was meant to be a protector or defender or warrior. Something great. It just doesn't fit.

"Wow. That's one heck of a name." She's so relaxed, sitting next to him. So casual. Castiel has never been able to achieve that level of ease. Too tense, too stiff, too worried about too many things.

"My name is Jody," she continues. "Jody Mills." She holds her hand out for him to shake but Castiel just shrugs his shoulders higher and grips his phone tighter. Her hand falls. "Are you hungry, Mr. Shield of God? I make a killer grilled cheese."

"My-" Castiel's shoulders fall along with the word he'd been about to say. He doesn't know what Mrs. Winchester is to him. Mary, Sam and Dean's mom. "I have a lunch."

"Sweet."

Castiel nods.

Jody Mills rocks forward, swinging her head around to look at him. "So for real, kid, what are you doing out here?"

The yard across from them is pleasant-looking. There's a rock path leading from the sidewalk to the door, plants on either side. Castiel stares at it. Stares and stares and doesn't think. "Nothing," he tells her.

Jody hums. "Want to do nothing inside where it's warmer?"

"Not really." Castiel's not allowed to say that. Not supposed to say that. He's supposed to want what everyone else wants. Supposed to soak up dislikes and discomforts like a pile of dirt soaking up water. It's easier to say it to someone he doesn't know.

Jody hums again. That's all she does, just hums and shifts her stance as though her leg was falling asleep. She talks, maybe to Castiel, maybe to herself. "Shield of god," she repeats. "Huh. I think I'd have just gone with Batman or something. Shield of god." Another hum, another shift of her shoulders and legs. "Doesn't sound like a very pleasant thing to be, does it?"

Castiel can't tell if she wants him to respond. He can't ever tell.

Jody talks on. "Bet you take a lot of hits, get a lot of hurts." She shakes her head and clicks her mouth. "And none of the credit." She sounds as though she's really thinking about it. "And nothing to defend yourself with, huh? God has a shield and a sword and the shield just has to take the hit. Protect its bearer." She shakes her head again. "Not a pleasant thing to be, a shield. So why choose that?"

There's no breeze today, and it's altogether too warm.

Jody pulls out her phone. "I'm gonna look it up. Shield of god. I'm religious, you know. You got me curious." She starts typing. "And if you think of any other names to give me, that'd be great."

She seems nice enough. "Angel of Thursday," Castiel provides.

"Angel of Thursday." Jody types that in. "Cassi-" She falls still. Her head slowly turns. "Castiel? Castiel Novak?"

Oops. Castiel's shoulders shrug back up.

"Hmm." Her hands splay back out behind her as she leans back. "You know, Mary talks about you. Says you're some kind of amazing. Says Dean had an awful lot of trouble making friends at school and then there you were. She was worried about him before you came along."

Castiel shakes his head at that. "Dean has tons of friends."

Jody hums. "Yeah? They give up their lunchtime at school to help him write book reports?"

"He has tons of friends," Cas repeats.

"You know what else Mary says?"

Castiel shakes his head, the movement small. He's still looking at the other yard, Jody looking at it next to him.

"Said she was worried about you, too. Still is. You know... Child Protective Services sounds like a big word. It might sound mean or scary-"

Castiel finds his head shaking without his full consent. "No," he says, voice small, mind latching onto that word, protective. "No, it, uh, sounds kind of like a shield."

Jody tilts her head. "Yeah, I suppose it does, doesn't it?" She looks down at him. "Something else to take the hits for a while, huh? You want to go down to the station, we can talk?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I'm okay."

"I can't help you if you won't talk."

"I know."

"That's what the company line is, anyway."

Castiel's head turns up to find her face.

She shrugs, looking at the yard. "Personally, I don't buy it." Her face is so animated. It reminds Castiel of Mary.

"It will make my job a whole lot harder, though. And if you're not gonna talk," Jody says, shoving to her feet and brushing herself off, "I might as well just drive you back to school." Her head tilts. "That, or I can figure out what the heck a truancy charge is." She extends a hand. "Up, up, come on. Lunch breaks don't last forever."

Castiel wants to sink right through the ground.

Jody drives him to school. And then she does something Castiel hadn't expected, and walks in with him. To the front office where Mr. Parken, the vice principal, can clearly be seen through the glass walls.

"I changed my mind," Cas blurts, feet scuffing the tiles as he slows to a stop.

Jody stops and turns. "About what, sweetie?"

"I-I'd rather... I'd rather go to the station." Castiel expects her to alight on the opportunity; for her face to brighten and her shoulders to lift. Half expects her to skip on feet as light as air as she comes back towards him.

She frowns instead. Frowns and straightens and turns to follow his gaze to where the vice principal can be seen, half hidden by blinds. Her frown deepens. "You don't want to check in?" Jody asks, but so softly that Castiel isn't sure she meant to say it aloud.

"I just..." Castiel trails off because he doesn't know. Doesn't know what he wants. And then he does. "I want to leave."

Jody's frown deepens further. Not so much the frown as her eyes and jaw, hardening somehow. No, not hardening. Twisting. She looks at the front office, then back at him. "Why?" she asks, so sincere and—but that's not concern. Can't be concern. Upset. He's made her upset, makes everyone upset. He should just keep his mouth shut.

"Never mind," Cas mumbles. He's tangling his fingers in the strings of his backpack. Tangling and untangling and tangling.

Jody's hum is less a hum and more a huff. Her hand is moving before she is, waving him back and away from the office. "Let's go outside a minute." She puts a hand on his backpack to turn and guide him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Cas. Can I call you Cas?"

Castiel nods as they walk back through the doors. There's a bench up against one of the walls and Jody leads him toward it.

"You just sit here a minute. I'm going to call my supervisor, let them know I'm gonna be late."

Castiel slumps on the bench, feeling the need to apologize again but sure she would just brush it off.

Jody stays within eyesight as she makes the call. Castiel sits on the bench and thinks.

He's been on edge of a cliff for what feels like forever, waiting to get shoved off the side, trying to tiptoe around his brother and father and Lucifer and the Winchesters. It was easier when he could just sleep in the bushes and live on granola bars.

He doesn't want to deal with this anymore. He wants to go to school and then go home every day, like normal people with normal families. Wants to have dinner with Gabriel and then go to the Winchester house to hang out and then wake up the next morning someplace he belongs. He wants three meals a day and a snack on top of it. Wants clothes that fit and don't look ragged, a new backpack and not the falling apart one he's had since the third grade, books that aren't borrowed from the library. Castiel wants things. He's spent his whole life stuck with what he had and he didn't let it bother him. He sucked it up like a pile of dirt sucks up water, desperate for nutrients and forced to take whatever it's given.

Now all of a sudden he's allowed to want and he wants everything. And he hates himself because he can't have any of it and _want_ aches beneath his skin more than bruises ever did. Castiel wants things, he's allowed to want things. He's not allowed to have them.

Jody walks back over, call finished. She sits next to him. "Why don't you want to check in?" she asks. So simple and easy. And she brought him back outside just because he wanted it, almost like that matters, like that means something, like he can have things he wants if he just asks. Like she's asking for him now, willing to give.

Suddenly it's too much and Castiel is crying and he doesn't know why.

Jody sets a hand on his shoulder. "You want to call Mary? Or one of your brothers? Or someone else, maybe?"

"I just want to go home." Wants a real home to go to. He tells her, asks her, "Will you just take me home?" Almost like there's a real possibility she will.

She doesn't, of course. Jody doesn't take Castiel home.

"Tell you what," she says. "I'll give you a few options here. We can go down to the station and you can talk for a while if you want, it doesn't have to be with me, or we could walk back in there and talk to the principal for a minute and check you in, or we could call someone and talk someplace else. Your choice."

None of those options sit right with Castiel. "I don't really like talking," he says, and watches her from the corner of his eye, not sure if he's expecting her to yell at him or remove the choices entirely by forcing him into one.

Instead, without so much as blinking, she provides another. "You could write it down if that's better."

Something smothering and foreign wells up in Castiel's throat, making his eyes burn. The words are pulled from his lips like threads from a string. "I don't want to bother anyone."

Tightness in the turn of Jody's head and the stiffness of her lip hint at an underlying worry or frustration and Castiel reacts instinctively, his senses heightening to high alert, his mind shoving his wants to the wayside, shuttering away from the conversation and focusing on her instead. On how to rescind whatever he's done to make her upset.

Nothing she says after that makes it to Castiel's mind without going through a series of filters. "You're not bothering anyone," Jody tells him, with frown lines at her eyes and mouth. It comes off as as false and superficial and something society and kindness demand she should say and not something she believes.

Castiel nods, agreeing without agreeing. All of a sudden, the only thing he's concerned about is removing himself from whatever this is as quickly and painlessly as possible, but he's not sure if the choices are still open to him. He can't say anything, anyway, because he doesn't trust his voice not to come out wrong and upset her further. He just nods.

Jody's head tilts as she looks at him. "What would you like to do, Cas?"

He doesn't want anything. He shakes his head, his tongue falling back on its familiar phrases. "Just tell me what you want," he says.

Jody's eyes shrink up, her eyebrows scrunching. "What?"

He said it too fast. He slows down. "What am I supposed to do for this?"

"For-for what? I'm not sure I'm understanding. I'm not sure _you're_ understanding."

Castiel takes the hint and shuts up.

Jody take a moment to figure out what she wants to say. She sorts though a lot of things, mouth opening and closing, head shaking slightly. "Would you _like_ to go down to the station?" She finally asks.

As though his likes and dislikes matter. Castiel doesn't know anymore. He shrugs, because he loves shrugging. Loves how noncommittal it is, loves how it feels.

"Would you like to go inside the school?"

Another shrug, and another surge of the safety it provides. Castiel isn't allowed likes or dislikes or wants. There's a calming comfortableness in that.

"Would you rather talk to someone else?" Jody is a faceless voice for some reason. Castiel can't seem to look up at her.

This time when Castiel's shoulders lift, Jody's fall with a sigh.

"Let's go inside," she says, but it hardly sounds like she means it. In fact, if she hadn't moved to stand at the same moment, Castiel wouldn't have thought that she did. He trails after her. Mindless. It's good to be mindless.

Mr. Parken, clear through the door, is just another form to shrug at.

At least it feels that way until they go through the door and Mr. Parken looks up and his eyes widen and he stands abruptly from his chair, sending Castiel skittering backward.

Jody makes a low sound, her hand finding the holster of her gun and making Castiel skitter away from her as well. He tries to force himself to calm down and still but his brain doesn't seem to want to reboot. He stands close to the corner, gaze straight ahead, locked in the empty space between Jody and Mr. Parken so that he can see the movements of both. He can't really see them. Not their faces or their hands, just their forms standing as vaguely placed blobs on the edges of his eyes. His arms are up, he realizes, trying uselessly to block.

He forces them to lower, forces himself to straighten, but can't force his gaze to move. Another phrase is found on his tongue, because there's no way his useless brain sent any signals. "Startled me," he says.

There's a moment of strange, tense silence.

"Ms. Mills," Mr. Parken nods, voice strained.

"Joshua," Jody nods back. Her hand waves and Castiel realizes its no longer on her holster. "I presume you know Castiel Novak?"

Joshua nods.

"I think we all need to have a conversation," Jody says.

Joshua sits, nodding again. "Would you get the blinds?"

Jody moves to grab the string and Castiel's throat lets out a strangled, muffled little protest without his consent. She stops. "I think we're okay with them open," she says, eyes flicking toward him. She also sits.

Castiel stays standing.

The vice-principal looks at him and gestures toward the other open seat. "You can sit if you want to, Castiel."

No. No, he can't.


	12. Chapter 12

They don't get anything out of Castiel, hard as they pry. They try calling Chuck and Chuck doesn't answer. It seems Castiel's siblings didn't come to school yesterday, same as him. Didn't come today either. Family emergency, Michael had said. Something about Chuck, but no one seems to know what. They abandon school and go to the police station.

That's where they are now, Castiel sitting on the side of the room watching the hustle and bustle, Jody sitting at her desk adding to it.

A cop walks in and Jody lifts. "Anything?"

The cop shakes his head. "Place was run down and trashed and empty."

Jody falls back into her seat with a sigh. She looks over at Castiel. "When's the last time you saw your dad?"

Castiel blinks at that. He's not sure. Over a week ago, definitely. He shrugs.

Jody sighs. "Do you have a way to contact him?"

Castiel shakes his head. The cop who provided the news, scruffy and middle-aged and grumpy, walks by a little too closely and Cas finds himself flinching into the wall. He's done that several times now, can't seem to shut the response off. From the way Jody and the other cops are side-eyeing him, they've noticed.

"What about one of your brothers?" Jody asks.

Almost subconsciously, Castiel's hand curls around the phone in his pocket. "Gabriel," he provides.

"The seventeen year old?"

Cas nods.

"What about the older one? Michael?"

The shake of his head is so slight, Castiel isn't sure it's visible. He's trying very carefully not to panic. "Gabriel," he says again, more pointedly. And then he finds himself telling her, "He's the nice one."

Jody's face slips into something stiff and unreadable. "The nice one," she repeats. She sets her pen down and slowly swivels her chair to face him better. "The others aren't nice?" she asks carefully. She questioned Gabriel, he remembers, after the fight with Lucifer. She knows about the vandalism and she's probably seen the rest of Gabriel's record. Seen the counts of underage drinking and trespassing on private property and the pictures of his car after he drove right into someone's mail box. That's when he had to buy the truck. She's wondering, no doubt, how it is that Gabriel can be considered the nice one when he's the only one with a rap sheet of fighting and violence. Perhaps wondering rightfully just how un-nice the others have to be for that to be true.

Castiel shrugs.

Jody hums. She pushes the pen across her desk and slides a notepad after it. "Write down Gabriel's number on there for me."

Castiel writes down the number and sets the pen and pad back down, unsure if he should slide the objects back over.

Another cop gets up, glances at Castiel, and detours around the other side of the desk. Castiel feels relieved.

Jody calls Gabriel and he agrees to come down. And then she does something Castiel hadn't expected, and calls first John Winchester and then Mary Winchester and asks them to come. She keeps calling people after that, asking them about the Novak family. First the teachers, and then the neighbors, and then the workplaces, and her frown gets deeper and deeper and deeper, digging itself into her face and cementing there. Apparently, she doesn't like the answers.

Thin and worn. That's how Gabriel looks when he walks through the door. His eyes find Castiel immediately. He crosses the room to sit next to him. "Hey, Cassie." The smile is tired.

"Are you okay?"

Gabe nods easily, his arm moving to lay across Cas's shoulders. Always has to infringe on personal space, Gabriel does. Castiel doesn't flinch. "Anyway," Gabriel says, "You're the one in the county lockup. What'd you do? Steal a sandwich?" He grins at Ms. Mills. "C'mon, Jody, what, you couldn't let him get away with his ham and cheese?"

Jody's eyes thin. "That's not why he's here." She leans forward. "When's the last time you heard from your father, Gabriel?"

"Chuck?" Gabriel shrugs, "Don't know, don't care."

Jody turns away and mutters something under her breath. "Sometime this week?"

Gabriel frowns. "Actually, no. Why? Has the old man broken the record for biggest-"

"Gabriel." Castiel's not sure where that sentence was going, but it likely wasn't anywhere suitable.

Jody shakes her head and leans forward further. "Because he's missing."

Coldness seeps into Castiel's limbs and freezes them over. "That can't be right."

Gabriel just cants his head, a shadow moving across it. "Guess he did win the record," he mutters.

After that, it's mindlessness again. Until Jody is in an office talking to the Winchesters and Mary suddenly exclaims, "We'll take him-them. We'll take them."

Castiel looks up, squinting through the half-closed blinds, and John is nodding. What he says is too quiet to hear.

When they come out, Jody nudges John and Mary over to Castiel and Gabriel.

John leans against Jody's desk. "Your father is missing," he says. "And you have a choice. You can go with CPS while they track down your father or your aunt Amara. _Or_ you can come home with us, both of you." He takes Mary's hand, and she smiles at them.

Castiel waits for Gabriel to respond. Gabriel just looks at Castiel. "Your choice, little bro. I'll go where you go."

"I want to go home," Cas says. He wants to go home and water Mary's plant and sleep in the bed they picked out and not worry about Michael or his father or anything else. "I want to go home with you."

Gabriel squeezes Castiel's shoulder and Castiel hopes that was the choice he was supposed to make.

* * *

Castiel carefully measures out each ounce for the little plant. He pours the water over the dirt just as carefully, thinking about how excited Gabriel looked about a couch to sleep on and wondering what he's been sleeping on in his apartment. Probably the floor. Castiel feels guilty about having the couch and now a bed and knows he shouldn't.

He doesn't care that his father is missing and knows he should.

They let him keep the ugly mustard yellow pillowcase. They'd meant to replace it with a milder color, and Castiel hadn't protested. Just watched, something hollow in his chest at the idea that none of these things were really his, that they could be taken away at any moment, that he had no control over them, never did.

Mary saw through him somehow. Maybe it was the way he was clinging to it, reluctant to pull it off and replace it, maybe the way he looked at the new one, because he'd felt the hurt on his face and hadn't been able to hide it. She smiled at him. Smiled and tugged on John's arm to pull him back from where he was making the bed. "I sort of like the yellow. Why don't we let Cas do it? Would that be okay with you, Cas?"

Cas nodded, his fingers clenching in the fabric of the pillowcase through he doesn't mean them to. "That'd be fine."

"Okay. You do it however you want to, sweetie."

It ends up more like a nest than a bed. Castiel likes to curl up in the blankets until he's basically buried. Likes to feel them. He hugs them close to his chest and it's almost like there's something hugging back. It only stays a nest for a few minutes, and then Castiel comes back to himself and fixes it properly. He puts the blankets in the order he wants them, though, and he keeps the mustard yellow pillowcase, a spot of brightness right on top. He shares a room now, but if Sam and Dean don't mind it, he'll leave it there instead of under the comforter where it belongs. It's the only thing he allows himself and he desperately hopes they won't mind.

They don't. Sam likes it, and he pulls his own pillow out from under his blankets and sets it on top just like Castiel's, a broad smile on his face.

That's a strange feeling, and Dean must see the confused surprise, because he tilts closer to Cas and whispers, "He looks up to you."

Castiel can't fathom why.

He's not sure how it comes up, but later that night he's sitting with Gabriel and he mentions it. There's this other, unmentioned topic of their family, and its sitting outside the door waiting to be let in. Pillowcases seem like a better thing to focus on.

"You're a straight A student," Gabriel says, as though he can't believe Castiel hasn't gotten this already. "And you're smart and you read books that a college kid would struggle to understand. Not only that, but you're nice, like really nice. I've never even seen you tease anyone, and for a younger brother like Sam, believe me, that's something he notices. Is it really so hard to think that someone could like you? As a person? Admire you, even?"

Castiel doesn't respond, and from the way Gabriel's shoulder's fall, that's a response in and of itself.

"_I_ admire you," Gabriel says.

Castiel nods half-heartedly. "It's getting late," he says, wanting to end this conversation all of a sudden. "We should get to bed."

The yellow pillow is comforting. Not being alone is... nice. Safer, somehow.

He wonders where his other siblings are.


	13. Chapter 13

Michael appears on a Wednesday, two days before Gabriel turns 18.

Anna is 20, and gone somewhere, and she can't afford kids, she really can't, she's sorry. That's the message she leaves on Castiel's phone. He listens to it five times, not sure why he does. She'll be happier, he thinks. Happier away from all of them.

Balthazar and Zachariah are found at home and they go with CPS and that's all Castiel really hears about them.

Michael appears on Wednesday.

It should be terrifying. But Castiel has been terrified for so long it's as if the battery for that emotion has simply run out.

It's a cloudy day and school is over and the kids have just gotten off the bus. Michael approaches from the side and Dean sees him and points. "Hey, isn't that your brother?"

The last few days have been strange. Living with the Winchesters has been strange. Not that Castiel wasn't already basically living there, it's just felt different somehow. More real, more easy, more... without being overwhelming the way it always is. He sees more of Sam and Dean because it feels like he's allowed to interact more, like he's supposed to be a part of the family dynamic.

Sam and Dean don't like the same things and Castiel has never had a real opportunity to discover much of what he likes so they rope him into doing all the things the other won't. Nerf wars with Dean and a complicated dragon board game with Sam. They're both amazing at cards. Castiel loses at almost everything but he doesn't mind, really. Gabriel does. Gabriel is a very sore loser, Castiel discovers very quickly, with a tendency to upend the board or throw his cards when his attempts at cheating don't end as well as he wants them to.

Castiel was expecting the other shoe to drop. Expecting Chuck to come and take him away, expecting Michael to show up eventually. When Dean points him out as they walk away from the bus stop, it's no real surprise. And it's no surprise when Michael approaches, yells at him, and blames him for whatever it is he's decided to blame him for.

"It's all your fault!"

Castiel was even expecting the punch. What he wasn't expecting was Sam. The boy is tall for his age; four years younger than Cas but still half a head higher.

Sam shoves in front of Castiel and takes the hit from Michael right to his jaw.

Castiel's battery-dead, should-be-terrified state flares right into fully charged rage. He's never punched back before, not really. If he doesn't react, they grow bored faster and give it up and leave him alone. He's learned not to react.

Shield of god, that's what his name means. He's never had anything to shield before.

It's not a fight, not really. Castiel doesn't know what it is. All he knows is that Dean is right there standing with him against his brother. That's different too.

Problem is, it's not a fight. Castiel only gets one punch in before Michael wraps a hand around his wrist and starts to drag him down the street toward a car.

When Dean fires up a protest, throwing something Castiel doesn't see at the side of Michael's head and drawing attention by shouting about kidnapping, Michael raises his voice and says, "He's my brother, I'm his guardian."

He goes to say something else but Castiel wrenches his arm free and snaps, "No, you're not." Cas wants to punch him but Michael grabs his arm so he kicks instead.

Michael startles just enough for Cas to break free again. He jerks backward a few steps and then his arm is being grabbed again but not by Michael.

"Come on," Sam says, and tugs on him. Dean is right next to him, looking at Cas, waiting.

Castiel has seen all of Dean's favorite action movies. He knows this is the part where the hero pulls away and says, "This is something I have to do." It feels like that, anyway. Like he's expected to deal with this right here and now; whether he wins or loses, to get it over with. Because Michael is just going to keep coming back. He holds a grudge for years and the longer it takes, the worse the confrontation is when it finally comes.

Castiel is sure he's supposed to deal with this and he's supposed to deal with it alone and he doesn't want to. He wants to go home and play games and watch movies and water Mary's plant.

"Come on," Sam says again, and Cas can see Michael coming closer, sizing up the three of them and deciding now or later.

Dean breaks forward just a little, shouldering out past Cas to glare Michael down.

He'd fight, Cas thinks, without really knowing why he's fighting. And he'd like to think that Dean would fight because he's friends with Cas, but really, he'd fight because Michael hit Sam.

That's what doesn't make sense. Sam. It must have been instinct that lured him to step forward when he saw Michael's fist reeling back. But instinct would have him pulling away, wouldn't it? He didn't do it for Cas, couldn't have. Nobody cares if Cas gets hit, except, occasionally, Gabriel. Castiel doesn't even care if he gets hit. Truthfully, the indifference feels a little bit like rebellion, like Cas is fighting anger by not becoming angry, like he won't give malignant people the satisfaction of letting it affect him. Like he's being the bigger person.

But Sam is passionate. He works hard for things, he fights for things. There, that makes sense. He moved in between and took the hit not because it was Cas but because it was the right thing to do. Would he fight if it came to it? Castiel needs to know because he needs to know if dealing with this right now affects Sam and Dean. If it puts them in the line of fire. Dean might not fight if Sam won't.

Sam doesn't _want_ to fight, and he makes that clear by tugging again on Castiel's arm and calling to his brother. "Dean, come on, let's go."

It doesn't matter in the end. Michael sizes them up as too much trouble and slinks back toward his car alone, making sure to leave a few parting words and glares.

He'll be back, he's always back.

Castiel isn't sure why, but for some reason he was expecting Sam and Dean not to mention it. There are things you mention and things you don't and confrontations with Michael are one of the things you don't. But Sam and Dean apparently don't know that.

It's not John or Mary or anyone Castiel would have expected them to mention it to had it happened to come out. It's Gabriel. And somehow, that's so much worse.

"Your brother Michael's a real jerk, huh?" Dean says it while Gabriel is about to eat a sandwich before he leaves for his evening shift.

Gabriel had his mouth open ready to take a bite but at Dean's words his eyes thin and the sandwich finds it's way back to the plate. "When did you meet Michael?"

"Today. Don't know what he wanted, but he tried to drag Cas off and punched Sam for getting in the way."

Gabriel's eyes are on Cas, then, lips pursed. "Oh, _really_?"

"Of course, Cas punched him back."

Gabriel nods. "Of course." He's still looking at Cas. Reprimanding him for something or demanding an explanation.

Castiel sinks lower on his seat and drowns in the height of his shoulders.

Gabriel soaks up all the information he can and then cuts Dean off mid sentence when the conversation falls toward the last time he punched someone.

"I have to go talk with Cas for a second," Gabriel says. And then he surprises Cas by shoving his untouched plate toward Dean. "Eat that." Gabriel rounds the table and sets one finger in the middle of Cas's back to push him down the hallway.

He's talking before they've gone halfway down it. "Has Michael been coming after you?"

Castiel can't respond because he can't see Gabriel to read the response he's looking for. He tries to stop and turn but Gabriel keeps nudging him along.

"Has he?"

"No," Castiel says, and then amends. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" Something gruff is in Gabriel's voice. Something Castiel doesn't like.

They approach the master bedroom and alarm has Castiel digging his feet into the carpet to draw to a stop. "We can't go in there."

"Why not?"

"We just can't, it's not right. We're not allowed." Everybody knows that. They were never allowed in Chuck's room. To breach an adult's territory is the worst kind of violation there is, Castiel wouldn't go in there if his life depended on it.

Gabriel sighs and pokes a finger in his back—"Go on—" to nudge him through the door.

Castiel flinches and jerks away toward the wall. "We can't go in there," he repeats. It's just one of those things, one of those rules. One you don't break.

"Fine."

Doesn't sound fine.

But Gabriel tugs Castiel toward the backyard instead.

Neither of them, Castiel thinks, were expecting Michael to be there.


	14. Chapter 14

Gabriel instantly turns to push Castiel back into the house. Castiel doesn't go and Gabriel doesn't push harder. If he pushed any harder, he'd be bruising. Gabriel doesn't push harder. He grits his teeth and faces their brother. "What do you want, Michael? And speak quickly because unlike some people, I actually have a job to get to."

"I want to talk to Castiel." Michael is in the yard by the fence looking annoyed or tired or wary or...

Castiel was never very good at reading Michael, always found him too unpredictable, especially without Lucifer around. He can't tell where this is going or why Michael is there, all he can do is assume the worst.

Gabriel scoffs. "Talk, huh? Is that what you call it?" He has a hand on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel isn't sure what for.

"You don't understand." Michael moves closer. He was ten feet away, now he's six. "You were never home, you don't know what it's like."

"What _what_'s like?" Gabriel asks. "You and your rich little boyfriend being Chuck's favorites, parking in the driveway every day while I had to go two blocks just so I didn't run the risk of embarrassing him? You getting away with everything short of murder right underneath his nose, never having to work for a living, even forcing Cassie to do your chores for you because you were too dang lazy? Yeah, sorry, I don't know what that's like."

Michael's glare is scary not because it's overly dark or angry, but because it's calm and controlled and all the more powerful for it. Anger is so much easier to manipulate. "What _dad_ is like," he corrects. Michael likes to correct people.

"I know exactly what Chuck is like," Gabriel retorts. "He's crappy and miserable and overly pretentious and I don't give a—" Gabriel stops himself, hand shifting on Castiel's shoulder. He's been trying not to swear so much. "And I don't care. Why are you here? What do you want?"

Michael's gaze lands on Castiel, glaring thinly. "That's between me and Castiel."

Gabriel forces a laugh and squeezes Castiel's shoulder. It's meant to be a comfort, Cas thinks; a sign that Gabriel's not leaving. Cas is relieved.

"No, really," Gabriel says, "Why are you here? Chuck is gone, shouldn't you be out celebrating with your awful boyfriend?"

Brutal is the only way to describe the change to Michael's form. His fists clench, his eyes thin, his shoulders straighten to make him look bigger and taller. "Actually, I can't. He left me. Everyone left me."

"I really wish I could feel sorry for you."

A flash of movement crosses Castiel's peripheral, making him turn his head to look. A window curtain finishes falling into place.

But then Michael is drawing his attention back, voice thundery. "You don't get it. You ruined everything, just because Castiel went whining to you about Lucifer throwing a few bad words his way."

"A few bad—You two—" Gabriel is trying not to swear and he bites back whatever insult he was about to spit, grinding his teeth in frustration and gritting out a different sentence. "You broke his ribs, Michael. The nurse said he was one misstep away from a punctured spleen." Gabriel gestures to Castiel. "They still haven't healed. He wheezes at night, he can't sit up straight, one wrong movement has him curling in pain. You broke his ribs, you tore up his back, and you friggin' starved him. 'Not your food to take,'" he mocks. "What the he-heck was that, bro? Of course it was!"

Michael is looking angrier and angrier, trying to interrupt, but Gabriel just keeps getting louder.

"A few bad words?! You jerks could have killed him!"

Castiel doesn't like this. Doesn't like to be talked about or have his hurts out there for all to know. He nudges Gabriel's arm. "Gabriel, stop. Please stop."

Gabriel swallows his next breath. He's been trying so hard to be better lately.

Avoidance is the best tactic Castiel knows. "Maybe we should just go back inside," he whispers to Gabriel. "We can lock the doors."

Gabe nods. "Good idea." He pushes Castiel toward the door. "Go inside, I'm right behind you. I have my key, go ahead and lock the door."

"Gabriel," Cas hisses. He's two steps closer to the door but doesn't go in. He's not that stupid, he can't be lied to that easily.

"He was fine!" Michael shouts. "He was just fine until you decided to butt in! You destroyed Lucifer's mustang and dad was pissed!"

"Gabriel." Castiel stands straight but he feels so much smaller than his brothers. "Gabriel, let's both go."

"Can't even have a conversation without running away, you're such—" Michael swears, and it seems so much harsher coming from him than it ever does from Gabriel.

"Gabriel," Cas calls again.

But Gabriel doesn't go. "If you have such a big problem with everyone leaving, why didn't you work harder to make them stay? Why don't you go after them? Lucifer and Chuck? If you want them so bad."

"I did!" Michael exclaims. "I tracked dad down and begged him to come back, you know what he said? He called me pathetic for wanting him. Like I was a sniveling little child too scared to spend the night away from him. He doesn't want to come back, he hates us." Michael points at Cas, the gesture almost threatening. "And it's his fault! His fault that Dad left in the first place, his fault that Lucifer doesn't want me anymore, that I'm broke and homeless and hungry! It's all his fault! If he hadn't—"

"Don't you give him that crap!" Gabriel interrupts. "You've brainwashed him enough!"

Castiel at Gabriel, not sure what he's been brainwashed about. He doesn't believe the things Michael tells him, he's not stupid.

Gabriel continues. "You're not a victim here, Mike, not even close."

"Neither are you. It's your fault too, all of this. If you'd just left it alone like you always do, always used to, we would've been fine. But you didn't, you had to screw it all up and piss dad off. And then you left. You left with him and no one was there to do the chores or the walk-through and Dad gave up and left just like you did."

Neither Gabriel nor Michael seem to mind that Castiel is not participating in the conversation.

"No one was there to do the chores?" Gabriel repeats. "Are you serious? You were there. Anna, Balthy, Zach, there were four other kids there and not one of you could do a load of laundry or mow the lawn? That's not on Cas, that's on _you_. You're the oldest, you're supposed to be responsible, you're supposed to be an example to us. To Cas. Not blame him and beat on him just because you feel like it, not pawn away your responsibilities and leech off Chuck until you die. You're such a dick, Michael."

That, Castiel thinks, is what really sets Michael off. He charges at Gabriel and tackles him down.

But when the fight starts, the door opens, and Dean comes running out.

Castiel is trying to pull Michael off of Gabriel, taking a few hits for his trouble, and Dean, smarter than he gives himself credit for, comes out with a phone in hand, threatening to call the cops if Michael doesn't leave right away.

When Michael doesn't leave, doesn't even react, Dean throws the phone inside and yells something to Sam. And then he's right there with Cas, pulling Michael off of Gabriel where they're fighting in the grass.

Three on one, and once Michael is finally shoved away he doesn't charge back in. He points at Castiel. "You're his favorite, you get him back. Fix this since you're the one who screwed it up in the first place. Fix it or I'll never leave you alone, I'll keep coming after you. You and your new family. We'll see if they still want you then."

Gabriel tugs at Castiel. "You were right, let's go inside, come on."

Dean slams the door once they're all in, glaring at Michael through the window.

"Ignore what he said," Gabriel is saying to Castiel, and Dean turns around to look at them.

"He's just a big jerk, Cas. He can't hurt you."

Castiel nods, but he doesn't agree.

* * *

The Winchesters didn't mention the bruises before, not really. That was before they were officially made guardians of Gabriel and Castiel. Before Dean had a matching bruise on his jaw from one of Michael's stray fists.

Mary and John's faces fill with disappointment when they see the two of them (Gabriel left for work) and Castiel wants to sink right into the ground. Wants to crawl into the bushes and never come out.

"What happened?" Mary asks.

John tilts Dean's chin up to look at it. "Did you boys get in a fight?"

Castiel shrugs.

"It was nothing," Dean says.

Sam, off to the side of the room, has no qualms about offering up the whole story all the way from bus stop to backyard.

Mary frowns. "Michael," she says, and turns to Castiel. "Didn't you say he came to pick you up from school? I think Joshua Parken said that too."

Castiel shrugs.

"Why do you just shrug all the time?" Mary asks. "You don't want to tell me?"

Castiel very carefully does not shrug. He hadn't realized it bothered her. "It doesn't matter," he says meekly. "That's all."

Now John is frowning too. "Of course it matters."

A slight shake of the head is all Castiel seems able to manage. He wants them to drop it, to brush it off, to ignore it. It's Castiel's problem, not theirs. He's not supposed to bother them with things like this, all it does is make people annoyed. Annoyed that he can't deal with it himself. He's learned to deal with it himself.

"Is he the one who was hurting you?" John asks, voice lowering so that the others can't hear. "I thought it was your father."

"It doesn't matter," Castiel repeats, voice just as low.

John's frown deepens. He seems stiffer and more solid all of a sudden, like a brick wall that would break your arm before it would so much as take a scratch.

When John moves, Castiel flinches back.

John stops, a hurt look on his face.

Mary waves her arms at Sam and Dean, herding them toward their room. "Give us a minute, boys."

Dean shakes his head and crosses his arms. "I'm not leaving."

"Dean," Mary chides.

But Castiel is relieved when Dean slips past her and plops himself on the couch.

Castiel sits next to him. "It's really not important."

"I think we need to talk," John says.

Avoidance is the only tactic Castiel knows, really. The only one that ever works. "Couldn't you just talk to Gabriel?" Castiel asks. "He's better at... talking."

John sighs. He sits on the coffee table and waves his arm to call over Mary and Sam. "Family talk, alright? Come on."

Castiel watches them come closer and feels uneasy. Not just because of the talk but because of the word family and who exactly might be included in that. A question slips out, soft and low. "What about Gabriel?" Is he included? Is Castiel included, really? Or did he just happen to be there?

Mary hums. "You're right, we shouldn't have this talk without him. I think we should wait until he gets home..."

Tension falls unbidden from Castiel's shoulders.

"...and in the meantime, I'd like everyone to go to their room and think about what they'd like to discuss."

Castiel's shoulders lift right back up. Nothing. He has nothing to discuss.

Mary waves everyone off. "Go on." Castiel stands to go but Mary stops him. "Castiel?"

Castiel stands frozen in place, wary and not sure why. "Hmm?"

John is right beside her. Her voice lowers. "We don't have to discuss everything with Sam and Dean if you don't want to, but I think it would be a good idea to include them. Are you comfortable with that?"

"Yes?" he asks, wondering what things are and aren't already going to be discussed, or why some topics would necessitate his permission. That's not how it works. John and Mary are in charge and there's nothing he can do to go against that. Nothing he would do.

"It's okay if you're not. You can be honest."

It takes a long a moment for him to work up the courage. "...I'm not really sure what you're talking about," he admits, and then finds himself bracing for their reaction, even taking a small step back.

"Oh," Mary says, voice high with surprise. Her head cants. "What do you mean?"

It was pretty clear, Castiel thought. But obviously he missed something or misinterpreted something. He shakes his head, embarrassed and nervous and flustered. "Never mind, it's fine, I get it. Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

"Okay." Castiel reigns his arms in close and ducks his head as he starts past the couch. "I'll go... think."

"Wait." John's arm lifts towards him and Castiel jolts to a stop.

He turns to look at John.

"Are you sure you understand?" John asks.

Castiel isn't sure because he doesn't understand. And if he screws this up and doesn't come back out with the right things to discuss, he's not sure what to expect and that's terrifying. He doesn't know the rules here, not really, doesn't understand how things work. They say there aren't real punishments, just talking, and honestly Castiel would prefer a different punishment. He shakes his head, just once, hoping they'll explain what they meant without getting upset.

John rubs at the back of his head but it doesn't seem angry or frustrated, just contemplative. "Do you understand that how you were living before was wrong?" John seems vaguely uncomfortable.

Castiel is too confused to really notice. "Sure," he offers. He's gotten better at lying lately. It wasn't ideal, but he's not sure it was _wrong. _Perhaps that's not what Mr. Winchester meant.

"Okay." John seems grateful for the affirmative answer. He opens his mouth to say something else but Mary stops him with a hand to his arm.

"Could you just tell me what you know was wrong with it?" She asks Castiel.

Castiel fishes around for the answers he assumes they want. "I... didn't earn enough money to buy food? I let myself be hurt? I..." These aren't the right answers, he can tell. Mary's shoulders are slowly falling and John is frowning and Castiel fumbles and freezes. "I don't know," he says.

"It's not your fault, sweetie. It wasn't _you _doing something wrong."

John sighs. He rubs the back of his head again. "I think we're on completely different levels here. Jody said something about a counselor, or maybe a therapist."

"I'm okay, really."

John disagrees. "You're good, but you're..." He's trailing off, a grimace on his face.

Castiel can't stop panic from hitting him full-force, leaping to some ugly conclusions for that sentence. "What? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing, Cas," Mary is quick to reassure. "I'm just not sure you understand how abnormal all of this is."

"Abnormal?" That's a worrisome word for some reason, one that Castiel lingers on.

Mary hums. "Tell you what, how about after we have our family talk, we schedule an appointment with someone, just to try it out. Would you want to do that?"

"Sure," Castiel says, even more worried about what must be wrong with him.

After that, he manages to slip away.

The talk that night is not at all what he expected.

Castiel sits on the couch between Gabriel and Dean.

It's safety and calling for adults and and a whole host of things about staying in groups and ways to contact the police and there's just too much to absorb. Too many new rules all at once that Castiel doesn't fully understand, as hard as everyone tries to help. He feels smaller and smaller and smaller as the talk goes on and he's sure he's not supposed to.

It's a long talk, and at the end of it Castiel is too worked up to sleep. He rolls in his new bed and thinks and finally he gets up, wanting something but not sure what. He grabs a blanket and pillow and holds them close as he walks out to the living room.

Gabriel must be awake and hear him because he shifts to look.

Castiel slips down in front of the couch cushions and curls up against them on the floor with his bedding. "I just felt like sleeping out here tonight," he says.

Gabriel hums. A moment later, he's moving. "You take the couch."

"I don't want the couch."

Gabriel won't take no for an answer and eventually, Castiel ends up on the couch and Gabriel on the floor.

They sit in silence for a time, but neither brother falls asleep. "Gabriel?" Castiel asks.

"Hmm?"

"Am I abnormal? Does that... Am I freakish or something?"

Gabriel sits up. "Who told you that?"

Castiel shrugs. "Am I?"

"Of course not. You're the normalest person I know."

"Thanks," Castiel says. He stares at the wall and doesn't close his eyes because he's not sure he wants to sleep.

Gabriel sits up further. "Look, Cassie... Nobody's normal, okay? That's not a real thing and it'd boring if everyone was. And, yeah, maybe you and I are a little bit freaks, but I kind of like it."

Castiel doesn't respond to that.

Gabriel sighs. He nudges Castiel on the arm. "You know all those people that did all those things you read about in school? Einstein and Galileo and Shakespeare and Benjamin Franklin? You think any of the things they did were normal? No, of course, they weren't. They were freaks, all of them, and they saw the world in ways nobody else could." Gabe nudges Castiel's arm again. "Embrace your inner freak, bro, because it's gonna take you places."

"Yours too?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes but nods. "Mine too."

"Thanks, Gabe," Castiel says, much more sincerely than before.

"Now go to sleep."

But Castiel stays up, thinking about all the places he might want to go.


End file.
